


Uncharted

by Oparu



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-04
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Beverly Crusher and Kathryn Janeway contemplate the next steps in their relationship, Beverly is called away to study a rare and deadly virus found on a freighter docked at Deep Space 5. When an ion storm disrupts communications and Deep Space 5's systems, Beverly's research project becomes an outbreak. With no known cure for the virus, Beverly and her team race against time before they too become infected.</p><p>Back on Earth, Kathryn faces Starfleet's dilemma of how to impose quarantine and the possibility of extreme measures. Unwilling to lose Beverly, Kathryn finds her own solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This comes after my series of shorts "Coffee in Bed". Beverly Crusher is the head of Starfleet Medical following the events of Star Trek: Nemesis and Kathryn Janeway is an admiral. They've been together for several months and are quite happy.

_May 2379_

Former captain's assistant Naomi Wildman had a mission at the _Voyager_ reunion party. She had several things she planned to do: tell Seven how well her studies were going, find Harry and congratulate him on his promotion and make sure Chell was in charge of the food. He made very good food. These things were well and good, as her mother might say, but the mission was Doctor Beverly Crusher.

She wasn't sure if she was meant to know about Doctor Beverly Crusher: rank commander, age fifty-five, head of Starfleet Medical. These things were easy to find out in the public data files. Doctor Beverly Crusher had served on the _Enterprise_ , both the galaxy and sovereign class versions, the _Horatio_ and several Starbases. Since the _Enterprise_ was a very good ship, being on two of them meant she was a very good doctor. The Doctor she knew, who was still trying to pick a name, had said that she was a very competent physician, for a human, and that she was reported to be quite pretty.

Pretty was good, because Admiral Janeway was really pretty, and her girlfriend had to be pretty too. Doctor Beverly Crusher: human, born on Luna, Academy class of forty-four, was supposed to be tall with red hair. She had a nice smile in her picture, and Naomi wanted to like her.

According to Tom and B'Elanna, who'd talked to her mother while she was playing with Miral, Admiral Janeway really liked Doctor Crusher. Her mother was happy about that. She'd smiled a lot the rest of the day. She'd even mentioned it to her father how nice it was that Admiral Janeway had 'met someone'.

Meeting someone led to dating them, and that sometimes led to marrying them. Naomi liked weddings. She'd been to a lot of them since they'd come home, and she loved getting to see everyone. Maybe if Admiral Janeway got married, she'd get to see lots of people. Maybe even people from the _Enterprise_. Definitely Admiral Paris, and he had very funny stories.

So, the mission was simple. Find Doctor Beverly Crusher at the _Voyager_ reunion party and make sure she was having a good time. It wasn't fun to not be part of the collective, and since she had just met Admiral Janeway a few months ago, she wouldn't know much of the collective. She might be lonely. If Naomi kept her from being lonely, she'd get to know her. She'd also make Admiral Janeway happy, and that was something she really loved to do.

She wanted a redhead, so Naomi scanned the crowd from the vantage point of the stairs. She was too short to see much of the crowd by herself, but from the stairs up to the toilets, she could see. Most of the redheads she already knew, like Ensign Francis, but there was one in the line for food that was new. She was out of uniform, but she was almost as tall as Harry, and she seemed to be the right age. Not that Naomi was that good at guessing age but she'd try her best.

 

If she was wrong a few times, she'd ask Seven, who would help her, but for now, she could look on her own.

Walking along the line next to her target, Naomi watched her reach for a crab puff and artfully inserted herself into the conversation.

"Try the pink sauce. It's raspberry and chili, I know it sounds weird, but it's really good."

 

"Thank you." A genuine smile was a good sign. The target reached for the pink sauce and placed some of it on her plate. "Have you already eaten?"

"Yes." Naomi frowned a little. If she still needed to eat, she could talk to the target. "I ate with my mom and dad."

"I see. I hope it was good." The target took some vegetables, a good helping of the curried throck with bamboo shoots, and went straight for the breakfast-for-dinner omelet Tom liked. These were good choices.

"It was very good. I like these dinners because they are always really good."

"Would you like to sit with me for a while? I'm afraid I'll be eating, but I'd be thrilled if you'd keep me company. I don't know many people here." She leaned down a little, and her hair fell over her shoulders. Her hair was really pretty, especially in the light from the chandeliers overhead.

Naomi nodded. She could see her parents, and they'd find her at the table if they needed her. The target went straight to Admiral Janeway's table, the one where Tuvok and Tom and B'Elanna all sat. Admiral Janeway's chair was empty, and the target sat down right beside where she would have been.

 

That left Naomi with the options of Chakotay's chair on one side of the chair the target picked, or the admiral's chair. The target tilted her head towards Admiral Janeway's chair.

"She won't mind. I promise."

"Admiral Janeway is always very kind," Naomi agreed as she sat down.

The target took a few bites, then paused, wiping her mouth on her napkin. "I'm sorry to be eating in front of you. I finished my shift much later than I thought I would and I'm very hungry."

"I was really hungry when I got here too. We had to take a transport from Deep Space Four, and my mom said I couldn't eat after lunch because we were coming here and I'd have dinner here." She sighed. It had been a very long trip. If she hadn't had the personnel files to search through, it would have been really boring.

She could ask about the target's shift. She had said she was working. It would be polite to ask.

"What do you do? Are you in Starfleet too?"

 

The target smiled, and Naomi felt warm. The target had a very pretty smile.

She nodded and wiped her mouth again politely. "I am in Starfleet. I work in Starfleet Medical."

"Then you must be very busy. Doctors are always really busy, and no one really appreciates them." Naomi remembered that her Doctor had said that a lot on _Voyager_.

The target tilted her head and took a sip of her wine thoughtfully. "I often feel appreciated. I've very lucky to be able to do the kind of work I do."

"Are you a special doctor?"

The target pondered this. She still hadn't introduced herself, but Naomi hadn't either. The mystery was part of the fun; Naomi was enjoying herself.

"I teach young people how to become doctors. I don't always get to work with them, sometimes I have to do too much paperwork, and other times I supervise research. It's different than being a doctor on a starship, because then you have one crew. Now I have everyone to look after." She leaned in and winked. Her eyes were very bright blue. "Including you."

Naomi hadn't considered that. "Am I okay?"

The target, who had yet to reveal she was indeed Doctor Beverly Crusher, studied Naomi with a practiced eye. She smiled a lot more than the Doctor Naomi had grown up with did.

"Half-human, half-Ktarian, about seven years old. Excellent health."

That was good. The target was still smiling, and she seemed very happy as she ate. When she paused, Naomi held out her hand.

"I'm Naomi Wildman, and you're right. I'm seven, but I'll be eight soon."

"And another ten centimetres taller." The target extended her hand, shaking Naomi's firmly. "I'm Doctor Beverly Crusher. It's very lovely to meet you. I've heard several stories about you."

"I hope they were good stories." Naomi frowned a little. "I did some silly things when I was younger."

"We've all done some silly things. I have a horrible nickname." Beverly drank more of her wine and leaned in very close to Naomi. "I will tell you if you promise not to tell anyone."

"I'm good at keeping secrets." Naomi couldn't really believe that anyone pretty and smart could have a horrible nickname, but she was curious.

"I love dancing and I'm fairly good at it. When I was in the Academy, someone found out and I became the 'Dancing Doctor'." Beverly rolled her eyes the same way Admiral Janeway did when she was annoyed.

"I don't have any embarrassing nicknames."

Beverly smiled at her mischievously. "You'll be eight next year."

Did nicknames come with being eight? Was there some mystery Naomi just didn't understand yet because she wasn't old enough? It was bad enough that her mom and dad had started talking about puberty and if she'd like girls or boys. She liked both of them but apparently she didn't like like them, which was really confusing. Seven didn't even really get it, but she'd only dated a little.

"Can- May I ask you a question?"

Beverly nodded, finishing the last of her curried throck. "Of course."

"I heard you live with Admiral Janeway."

Another nod. "Technically, she lives with me."

"Oh?"

"My apartment was better."

Her conspiratorial whisper made it sound like a secret. Naomi loved secrets when she knew them, and hated them when she didn't.

"What's better about it?"

"Is that your question?"

"No, I'm afraid it's not." Naomi looked down. Was she really going to be limited to one? She had to make it really good if she only got one question. "My one question is: do you live with Admiral Janeway because she's your friend, or because she's your girlfriend and if she's your girlfriend, do you think you'll get married?" It came out very fast, but Beverly understood.

"I live with Admiral Janeway because I love her very much, and also she's terrible at cooking for herself and keeping plants alive. I think that means she's my girlfriend, more than my friend, but to be thorough, she was my friend first."

Naomi contemplated this. She liked Admiral Janeway having a girlfriend because hopefully she would be happy. Having a girlfriend made Tom happy, and her uncle Neelix happy, and Harry liked Libby very much.

"And?" she had to wait to get the rest of the question.

Beverly's smile twisted playfully. "May I ask one?"

"Will you still answer the second half of mine?"

"Of course."

Naomi nodded vigourously. "Okay."

"Do you think we should get married?"

That was a hard question. Naomi didn't know much about getting married. She liked weddings.

"I like weddings."

"So do I, but getting married only starts with a wedding. It's a big commitment."

Too much of a commitment? Were they going to break up? Naomi tried not to sound concerned. "I thought you loved Admiral Janeway?"

"I love her, and I'm very committed to our current relationship." Beverly reached over and touched Naomi's shoulder gently. She had strong fingers. "Getting married requires a lot of thought. Will you still want to be together in ten years? Twenty? Will your careers let you be together? Do you want to accept certain setbacks if your careers don't send you to the same place? Do you want children? Do you both like dogs?"

"Do you?"

Beverly stopped, trying to place the question. "Do I?"

"Do you like dogs?" If she didn't, they were going to break up and Admiral Janeway would be all alone on Earth again. Naomi hated the idea of Admiral Janeway being all alone on Earth while everyone else went to space. Even Seven went to space sometimes.

"I like dogs. I like cats a little more, but I like dogs too."

That was good. Naomi's stomach stopped doing barrel rolls. "And you might get married, someday."

"It's possible."

Beverly suddenly reminded Naomi of her mom. She knew that voice.

"Beverly?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have kids?"

Beverly happily accepted a piece of Jimbalian fudge cake from the server and smiled over at Naomi. "Yes, I have a son named Wesley."

That explained it then. She knew how to do the mom look. She would be difficult.

"Do you want more?"

Beverly handed Naomi a fork and offered her cake. "This is delicious."

The question hung in the air as Naomi took a bite. It wasn't quite as good as Neelix's but Beverly didn't need to be disappointed. She did notice Naomi looking at her and laughed a little.

"I think it would be very nice to have more children, especially if the person I was with wanted them too." She took another bite of cake, then studied Naomi. "Now, tell me about you. What do you like to study?"

 

"Science and astrophysics. I don't like genetics much, but I really like things in space. Seven says I should call 'things in space' astrophysics but it's a long word."

"It is."  


* * *

After Chakotay reminded her that Beverly was here, Kathryn searched the room again with her eyes and found Beverly sitting at her table, with Naomi Wildman in her chair. Not that she minded the youngster being in her chair in the slightest, she felt guilty because she'd convinced Beverly to come to the _Voyager_ reunion, and then been so busy catching up with her crew that she hadn't had time to introduce her to anyone, not without rudely leaving the middle of the conversation.

 

Beverly was happy. She'd taken the time to change into the tight green dress that looked absolutely stunning on her, and she'd left her hair down. Hopefully the nanotechnology test she'd been running had gone well. She'd said she was going to be late, and apologised several times, and Kathryn was really just happy she was here. She wanted Beverly to be here, with her family.

Chakotay tapped her shoulder, pulling her back into the conversation she was no longer paying any real attention to.

"Lieutenant Briggs has just been assigned to the medical ship _Phlox_ as their assistant engineer."

"Congratulations, Lieutenant. I'm sure you'll take very good care of the ship." Her smile was half for Chakotay. He was unearthly good at knowing when her attention had drifted. "Please, enjoy the party. Don't let me keep you from Lieutenant Sigurdsson, he's been waiting for you."

"Thank you, Admiral."

The young man left Kathryn alone with Chakotay and a nearly empty flute of champagne. She was going to need to switch to coffee if she intended to stay awake for the rest of the reception. Her stalking headache threatened for a moment between her eyes and she sighed. Why were receptions never in the beginning of the week when she had energy.

"I think she's being interrogated."

"What?" Kathryn snapped to attention. "Beverly?"

"Naomi's got her in her sights."

The knot of panic dissolved in her stomach. Naomi and Beverly would probably get along famously. Beverly was pretty good at talking to everyone she'd met, and she was exceptionally good with children. Years of practice, of course, but Kathryn envied that. Sometimes she was surprised by how much Naomi liked her. She'd had very little time for the girl, even though she would have loved to have spent more with her, the ship came first, and _Voyager_ was especially demanding.

"She'll be fine. Beverly's good with children."

"Naomi's been dying to meet her." Chakotay caught a new glass of champagne and smiled at her when she didn't. "Coffee?"

"Please."

"Tom and B'Elanna have been wanting to meet her too. I even overhead Harry betting Seven that Beverly was taller than she is." Chakotay led her over towards the coffee and tea service and Kathryn was able to pour herself a cup of precious black coffee. Clinging to it, she tried to guess what Chakotay was getting at.

"Her height is in her Starfleet record."

"But will she wear heels? Your height is in yours and you--" He waved towards her feet and the neat stiletto boots she was wearing with her grey pantsuit. Beverly could wear a dress, she had the legs for it.

"I don't see why it matters to Harry if Beverly wears heels or not."

Chakotay half-circled her and stopped on her left so that he was no longer between Kathryn and her view of Naomi and Beverly. "Everyone's curious."

Clinging to the heat and comforting smell of her coffee, Kathryn frowned. "She has a Starfleet record. She's given several interviews to the Federation News Service, taught at the Academy; she's written over a hundred academic papers. There's not a great deal of mystery about her life."

"Beverly's life isn't the mystery." Chakotay's expression softened, as it did when he realised she was annoyed. "She's with you, you're the captain, and you having a life makes everyone happy, and curious."

"I had a life on _Voyager_."

Chakotay patted her shoulder and smiled patronisingly. "You had _Voyager_ and all of us to look after. That didn't leave you much time for a life."

 

Her coffee was sweet and full-bodied. It was good. Why was it after seven years of dreadful coffee that now she missed it? Kathryn pondered his idea. "You're saying it's the first time I've had a date, and everyone wants to know about it."

"You're happy."

Kathryn stared at him. He looked so smug; discovering she was happy was hardly slipstream warp drive. "Of course I'm happy. I was happy on _Voyager_."

"Not like this." He patted her shoulder again and dropped his hand to the small of her back to steer her into another group of the newly-promoted to congratulate them. They'd become so close as a crew that it was hard for her to imagine anyone else being a captain to anyone from her ship. They were moving on, and her case of the empty nest grew worse with each of the reunions.

As she made the rounds with Chakotay, shaking hands and smiling, Kathryn kept Beverly in the corner of her eye.  Naomi introduced her first to Samantha and Greskrendretk, then Chell, Seven of Nine, Tom and B'Elanna. Tom and B'Elanna spoke with her for a long time. Kathryn had a sneaking suspicion that Tom could make anyone laugh, but Beverly had him going.

She didn't know the story. Kathryn couldn't even guess what Beverly was saying, but B'Elanna and Tom were both laughing. Beverly fit. The tight-knit _Voyager_ family could have been intimidating, even terrifying to a newcomer, but Beverly fit. Of course she would. She knew Starfleet. She'd been part of that family longer than Kathryn.

Tuvok hadn't yet met her, but he'd read Beverly's academic papers and pronounced her research founded and her interpretation insightful. That was high praise from her old friend. When they met, of course they'd get along, the way Beverly got along with her mother.

Chakotay nudged her, drawing her back to the conversation and out of speculation about how Beverly would look in her dress uniform, and if Tuvok would stand up for her. She'd never had a wedding. She and Mark had planned one, talked about it on subspace while she prepared _Voyager_ : should it have been inside or outside, what Mark would wear, and how big the guest list would have been.

Giving up staring at her and hoping she'd pay attention, Chakotay cleared his throat. "Admiral?"

Her face stung, and too late to prevent it, Kathryn blushed. "I'm sorry, my mind keeps wandering."

"You must be very busy at Starfleet command." Tal Celes smiled with understanding and wrapped her arm tighter around Billy Telfer's waist. "It's really great that you managed to come anyway. Even if you are--"

Billy jumped in, stopping Celes before she called Kathryn on her distraction. "So, what's _Voyager_ like now, Captain?"

The three others had a normal conversation while Kathryn gulped the last of her coffee and excused herself to get more. She couldn't focus. Across the room, she could see that Beverly's hair was down, hanging just past her shoulders. Kathryn could picture the tiny curls along her neck, just above the neckline of her green dress.

She held her now-full coffee cup close, trying to calm herself. She was jumpy, distracted, her mind was wandering and she was letting herself think about weddings. She hadn't thought about weddings since the first year on _Voyager_ , when Mark, and being with Mark, crept into her thoughts. After awhile, she'd let it go, put it away as a fantasy that was never going to happen, like Justin. Justin hadn't meant to be. Maybe they wouldn't even have stayed together. He was so tortured, so desperately in need of affection. Had he been one of her projects? Had she really loved him? What if he hadn't wanted children?

Could she have left him? Would she have dared if he hadn't been taken from her first? Maybe she hadn't had the strength. She'd been so much more timid before she'd lost Justin and her father. That had changed her, burned out some part of her so she could go on.

Mark hadn't waited for her but maybe she hadn't wanted him to. Perhaps she'd known something was wrong. Though they talked often of the wedding, she never put any of it in a PADD. She hadn't taken that step.

Why not? Had something been wrong? Having been proposed to twice, she knew how it went. Beverly wouldn't, she was patient. She had been married. She was entirely content not to do it again.

Naomi Wildman stood in front of her, waiting at attention to be noticed. She was taller each time Kathryn saw her. Next year she'd probably be taller than Kathryn, if she grew like her father.

"Naomi Wildman, what can I do for you?"

The young girl beamed, obviously pleased. "I've met your friend, Doctor Crusher."

"I hope you were kind to her. She doesn't know anyone here." Kathryn sipped her coffee and maintained a serious expression.

"Correction, she didn't know anyone here. Now she knows my mom and dad, and Lieutenant-Commander Torres, Commander Paris, Crewman Chell and Seven of Nine. Commander Paris thinks she's funny."

Kathryn watched Naomi collect a cup of hot chocolate and politely thank the server. She was going to be in the Academy before she knew it.

"What did you think?"

Naomi lifted a marshmallow out of her mug with a spoon and ate it happily, not quite an adult yet, thankfully. She lowered her tone secretively. "She's beautiful. I really like her hair. I can't get mine to look like that."

Smirking a little, Kathryn nodded. "I know what that's like. I can't get mine to do much of anything."

"But she likes your hair, mom says that's what counts." Naomi leaned in closer. "She really likes you."

The stinging heat of embarrassment flashed through her face again. She hadn't been so edgy since she was a teenager. What was it about Beverly Crusher that destroyed her self control?

"Good." She clung to her coffee cup, hoping Naomi was still too young to have noticed. "I'd say that's a good thing. Wouldn't you?"

"Seven said she was 'remarkably insightful'."

Kathryn could picture Seven's tone, and made a mental note to schedule some time with the young woman in the near future. "For a human?"

"Seven is trying to leave some things unsaid. When she points out the inadequacies of humans they frequently become offended when she did not mean to cause any ill-feelings."

Kathryn squeezed Naomi's shoulder, entirely proud of both her and her ex-Borg mentor. "Well, since you've made such good friends with my-" Why wasn't there a better word than girlfriend? Did she really want to start saying fiancee? Wife?  "Beverly, would you mind stealing her from Tom for me?"

"Will you remain here?"

Sighing and glancing down at her feet, Kathryn pointed to the table where she'd sat all too briefly. "Actually, I'll be over there. I haven't had any cake and I've heard that it's fantastic." Her stomach was far too knotted to handle cake, but she allowed herself the little white lie.

"The Jimbalian fudge cake is way better than the Alpha Quadrant one."

Naomi's excitement soothed her nerves. The Borg didn't make her nervous like this. Possibly nothing made her nervous like this. Maybe she should just tell Beverly, force herself to excise the problem before it became inflamed.

No matter what she said, or how many times Kathryn told herself her feet didn't hurt, by the end of the day, they did. She'd barely had time to change out of her uniform, and Kathryn had been regretting switching boots for the last hour. Could she wear her uniform boots all the time? Would anyone notice?

Warmth behind her shoulder, the whisper of her falling against her neck and the very familiar scent of Beverly was infinitely comforting. Almost as good as taking of her boots.

Beverly kissed her cheek, setting down a plate of cake in front of her. "You have to try this."

Resting her head on Beverly's shoulder, Kathryn reached for her thigh and the tension in her stomach eased when Beverly squeezed her fingers. Sitting there in silence, she held on and eyed her cake. "I've heard it was good."

"It's incredible. You ate better than you say if all the food on Voyager was like that." Beverly's tone was light and teasing.

"You haven't had leola root." Kathryn patted Beverly's thigh and brought her hand back to eat her cake. Toying with her cake instead of eating it, Kathryn moved her fork slowly.

Beverly rubbed her shoulder, then kissed her cheek again. "Long day?"

"It wasn't really." Kathryn took a bite of cake and the sweet, nutty icing melted into her tongue.

Grinning at her, Beverly smirked. "Told you it was good."

Unexpectedly, Kathryn's eyes stung, and she turned towards Beverly, half in tears before she pulled herself together. "We had this for Kes' second birthday."

She'd nearly forgotten. The young woman she'd known frequently slipped into her thoughts. It was an old grief. So much of what Kes could have had, seemed to have been lost in her evolution. Perhaps she wasn't ready. Kathryn would never really know, no Starfleet ship had yet returned to the Delta Quadrant and their relay didn't reach Ocampa.

So many had been lost on their long trek home. Some marriages had been ruined, some children had spent years without a beloved parent, and a few didn't return at all.

One of the many things she loved about Beverly, was that Beverly didn't need to have known Kes, or Joe Carey, or Harriman to wrap her arms around Kathryn's waist and steel her against what she felt. She'd made it through her speech, even though she'd dreaded it and spent far too much time fussing with the wording. Every time she looked into her crew, she saw the faces who were there. When she watched Mike Ayala pick up his boys, she thought of Audrey Carey and the two little boys who's father hadn't come home.

She was good at not crying. She'd made that a habit through the years. Tonight she was tired, no one was watching, and she'd been the admiral all day. She'd done her part, as she always tried to, but Kes was still gone. Joe Carey was still dead, and so were all the others she'd left behind.

Beverly's hand held her cheek, then she turned in her chair and held her close. She shouldn't be crying, it was just cake, but Kes wasn't there.

And she should have been.


	2. Chapter 2

Kathryn's breathing slowed. Beverly rested her chin on Kathryn's shoulder and listened as her breathing crept past measured. She blew air slowly through her teeth, almost whistling. Beverly had done that herself a few times. Exhaling just below the point of making a sound was a trick she knew well to keep from crying.

Wrapping her arm a little tighter around Kathryn's shoulder, Beverly kissed her cheek quickly before settling back down. "It's all right."

Dragging her fork around her plate, Kathryn shut her eyes against her tears and shook her head slowly. "This was Kes' birthday cake, when she was two. When she was three, the icing was white, but it was still Jimbalian fudge. Her favourite."

Squeezing Kathryn's arm with her hand, Beverly said nothing.

The faintly blue icing trailed outward from the cake on the dark plate as Kathryn toyed with it. It was almost modern art and part of Beverly felt a sympathetic to the cake. It had been absolutely delicious, but it wasn't food to Kathryn, it was memories.

Beverly had wondered what it would have been like if the _Enterprise_ had been stranded seventy years from the Alpha Quadrant. _Voyager_ was a tiny ship without the resources of the _Enterprise_ who was designed to be in space, without assistance for months at a time. She hadn't served on a ship as small as _Voyager_ since before Wesley was born.

Kathryn's throat was too tight and the catch as she inhaled was sharp enough to shake Beverly from her thoughts. Kathryn crying on her shoulder, cake forgotten in front of her, was not something Beverly had predicted when she'd worried about the possible outcomes of the party, but it was not out of the realm of possibility.

People were still talking in scattered groups, and no one was paying the two of them any real attention. When Tom caught her eye, Beverly shook her head once and he nodded. Everything was fine and he'd understood that easily enough. He reminded her of Will, same easygoing manner with a big heart beneath it.

As she ran her hand slowly down the back of Kathryn's neck, Tom said something to B'Elanna, and Beverly watched as it spread like a contagion through the crowd. Chakotay took over then, and Beverly let her gaze return to the top of Kathryn's head.

She had suspected something at the party. Everything leading up to tonight's events had been building like a storm: all the crew arriving, the letters from those who couldn't make it and the letters Kathryn received from some of the families of the dead. Those were the hardest. Well meaning, well thought out letters from family members who know that Kathryn had done everything she could to bring their loved ones home.

Kathryn hadn't taken the time to develop the necessary space that Beverly had learned was absolutely necessary early in her career. Captains kept themselves apart as well, but _Voyager_ had been a unique situation. Even Jean-Luc had admirals, and Starfleet Command. Kathryn had spent years being everything for her entire crew. Of course she was lost, she'd been lost when Beverly met her. They'd been lost together.

"It's okay."

Kathryn's little shake of her head came with a sniff. At home, Beverly could have taken her away and curled up with her on the sofa until she drew it out of her. Here she'd have to be more creative. Extracting herself reluctantly from around Kathryn, Beverly stood and hovered over her chair.

"Come on, let's go see if we can see the Copernicus City."

"I've been to the Copernicus City," Kathryn protested, slowly following Beverly out towards the courtyard. "I don't need to look up at it--"

Beverly wound her arm securely around Kathryn's waist and kept her close as she guided her outside. "Maybe I think you do."

"It's far too cloudy." Kathryn walked over to stone railing and crossed her arms over her chest. She took another breath, shuddering as she exhaled. "Naomi was impressed with you."

"She's an incredibly bright girl." Beverly moved closer, putting both of her hands on Kathryn's shoulders. "And she adores you. I think she gave me her blessing for us to keep dating."

Reaching up for Beverly's hand, Kathryn grasped her fingers, holding them tight. "Well that's one piece of good news."

"I don't think I've ever had to run a gauntlet like that." Beverly kissed the back of Kathryn's neck, in case she took it personally. Kathryn was cool against her, but snuggling closer started to warm her.

Patting Beverly's hand again, Kathryn sighed. "I should have been with you."

"No apologies." Beverly kissed her cheek, getting that much closer to her mouth this time. "I can handle myself in a crowd of junior officers. I'm a commander, and the head of Starfleet Medical. They have to be nice to me or I'll put them through enough 'necessary' medical tests to keep them busy until next year."

That finally made Kathryn laugh. "Oh now you admit it. You doctors are all alike. All secretly planning to control us all." She turned, winding herself into Beverly's arms. There were tears on her eyelashes but she kissed Beverly before she could move her hand to chase them away. Tentative at first, her lips covered Beverly's own. The kiss was brief, but warm.

Beverly rested her forehead against Kathryn's. "We are control freaks, I'll confess." Stroking Kathryn's tears away, Beverly smiled when Kathryn played with her hair in return.

"Everyone liked you, even knowing you're the head of all doctors in Starfleet." Kathryn's fingers were cool in her hair, and she buried them deeper. "Not that I doubted it for a moment. You and Tom share a sense of humour; you and B'Elanna share a temper-"

"I don't know how well we'll bond over that."

Kathryn's fingers played down her neck, toying with her shoulder. "You never know."

"Miral's absolutely adorable. Those cheeks and those little ridges on her forehead. Such a little darling." Beverly had been too strange to hold her, but a few minutes of smiling had convinced the little toddler to smile back. Next time, she'd be able to hold her. Miral seemed fearless enough.

Kathryn's blue eyes softened, and something passed behind them that Beverly had seen before. That unfulfilled want had been stalking her for awhile. Mark hadn't wanted children as much as Kathryn did. The times they'd met, he'd been entirely happy childless with his wife.

Beverly hadn't put off children. Wesley came while she was barely out of medical school, and he'd been with her for most of her adult life; longer than Jack. Wesley was fine now, happy with his adopted people and growing steadily more enlightened. Knowing he was all right didn't keep her from missing him. Not only the man Wesley had grown to be, but the little boy who snuggled up against her while she was filling out charts, and the baby who'd fallen asleep to the sound of his father humming slightly off key.

Did she want to do that again? Give up her free time and evenings at the theatre to guide a new person through life? Staying with Kathryn might come with children. They'd have to discuss it, if they ever made it past the current question and onto the next.

Kathryn nuzzled her cheek, then sighed. "We should say goodnight."

Kissing her was much more fun than taking leave, and Beverly pushed this one further than the last. Kathryn would be an excellent mother, doting yet practical, and the idea of caring for someone else through her pregnancy held Beverly's fascination. She'd been the one to carry Wesley, and she'd delivered many healthy babies through the years, but none of them had been hers.

There was plenty of time for that.

Breaking the kiss reluctantly, Beverly let them both catch their breath. "Think they're all wondering where we've gotten to?"

"Naomi's probably hoping you'll propose." Kathryn's tone was light, but there was truth behind her smile. "I'm told she's become quite the wedding planner."

"I'm not wearing white again."

"Wouldn't be right." Kathryn smirked, running a hand playfully down Beverly's chest.

Beverly kissed the corner of Kathryn's mouth, then stepped closer, walking into Kathryn's hand. "No, not at all."

"Tease."

"Only if I didn't mean it."

Dropping her hand to take Beverly's, Kathryn smiled and sent a rush of warmth through Beverly's stomach. "Have I mentioned I love you?"

Lowering her voice, Beverly held her lips close to Kathryn's ear. "Bet I can make you whisper it breathless…"

Giggling a little as they re-entered the main hall, Kathryn remained close. For all she smiled, Kathryn was still shaken. Her eyes were too bright and her neck was stiff. Most of her crew couldn't tell, she was well-practised at hiding her doubts. While Kathryn hugged Tom and B'Elanna good night and played with the baby, Beverly felt a hand on her shoulder.

"You keep her well in more ways than you see." Chakotay's voice was soft: too low for anyone else's ears.

"She keeps me in line."

He'd aged since she'd known him at the Academy. Beverly supposed she had as well, but spending the last seven years in the Alpha Quadrant had probably been kinder to her.

Chakotay's dark eyes shone with amusement. "Someone has to."

Raising her eyebrows at him, Beverly smirked. "I'm not that bad."

"Depends on the definition."

He met her eyes, keeping his gaze even. Though Chakotay and Beverly were acquainted, he was Kathryn's dear friend. Beverly trusted him and his opinion of what Kathryn needed and how she felt was important. "You're good for each other. Hard to do much better than that."

Beverly watched as Miral wrapped chubby arms around Kathryn's neck and kissed her cheek with sticky baby lips. Kathryn glowed with joy as she held the little girl and that was another train of thought for another time. Something in the pit of her stomach, something Beverly had nearly put out of her life and given up wanting tugged at her as well.

She must have looked too long, because Chakotay hid a brilliant smile behind his mug of coffee. Turning her focus back to him, Beverly tried to think away her surprise before it put pink in her cheeks.

"I suppose that would be one way." His voice was distorted by his mug, but Beverly heard the hint of a chuckle.

Kathryn wandered back, smiling a little easier. "You two planning a mutiny?"

"Do you think we would have?" Chakotay turned to Beverly thoughtfully. "If you'd been on _Voyager_."

Mocking indignation, Beverly had to hold back her smile. "You think you would have found a way to persuade me to support you over Kathryn?"

"Maybe I would have supported _you_ for captain. I've heard you've run a starship."

Kathryn's amused smile grew. Chakotay knew exactly where the chinks in her armour were, and he was out for blood. Beverly watched them smirk at each other and kept her expression neutral.

"So you would have taken over the ship together, the two of you?" Kathryn's infamous death glare landed on Beverly who shrugged.

"Only if you didn't listen to me. Your EMH's notes on you are far from flattering. Maybe taking over the ship would have made you show up for your physical on time."

"I don't even know if Q could do that."

Chakotay's joke made both of them wince and Kathryn actively looked around nervously, as if mention Q's name would summon him up like a demonic creature.

"I think I'm glad the _Enterprise_ had you as long as they did," Kathryn finished, nodding good night to Chakotay and taking Beverly's arm. "We'll see you Saturday, dinner?"

"You have to meet the maestro."

"Oh he does!"

Chakotay raised his eyebrows in polite confusion. "Maestro?"

"Da Vinci." As Beverly mentioned their cat, Kathryn winced slightly. She still found naming something as unimportant as a cat after her great historic hero a bit strange. Now that the huge grey cat had lived with them long enough to establish himself, it was completely obvious to Beverly that the name fit. He was the kind of cat who was master of everything, and would probably be stretched out over the bed as if it were his when they arrived home.

"You've resurrected your holodeck program?"

"We have a-" Kathryn paused, as if searching for a foreign word, "cat."

"Kathryn, I'm, well, I don't know what to say." Chakotay's dimples were very obvious as he grinned at her. "How did Beverly talk you into a _cat_?"

"I'm not home enough for a dog." Kathryn's pout was directed directly at Beverly, who shook her head slowly.

"You agreed to let me track when you came home from work."

Kathryn rolled her eyes but nodded. She stared gloomily at the floor then looked up. "I'd come home earlier if we had a dog."

"You'd come home at the same time if we had a dog, I'd just be out walking your dog so you'd feel like it was earlier."

"You wouldn't have to walk her-"

"I would have to walk her, I couldn't just sit there and watch her pine to be walked. I'm not heartless."

"You are heartless. You won't let me have a dog."

Chakotay's smile could have been used to start a warp reactor. Kathryn's indignation was well practised and Beverly put her hand on her shoulder before Kathryn could put her hands on her hips.

"Be home for dinner on time every day next week, and I'll go to the shelter with you and pick one out."

"Sounds fair."

"Oh don't start, Chakotay." Kathryn glared at her former first officer but finally gave in. "You're betting I can't, aren't you?"

"I'm betting you won't." Chakotay smiled at them both knowingly. "Not that you can't. There's a difference."

"Semantics." Kathryn's growl was half-hearted and she took Beverly's hand as a peace offering. "We'll let you know how it goes."

Chakotay nodded to them both. He'd stay until the end of the party and make sure everyone went home safe. Beverly was very fond that paternal aspect of his character.

"I'd like that. Now, don't be too hard on her. She means well." Chakotay stole Beverly enough to hug her. The sudden affection and earthy smell of him both warmed her heart. When it was her turn, Kathryn held on a bit longer; they'd been through hell together. "I like you with her," he concluded. "She doesn't put up with much."

"She doesn't put up with enough." Kathryn protested, slipping her arm around Beverly's waist. "She's terribly cruel."

Beverly kissed her cheek warmly. "I am. I make her eat her vegetables and stop doing her homework to go to bed."

"I think we could have used you on _Voyager_ after all, Beverly."

"Goodnight Chakotay."

"Goodnight."

Outside the meeting hall, the air was cool and the sky was starting to cloud over. Beverly looked up; through the clouds, the Lunar cities still twinkled on the moon. She had read the medical record of her birth, heard the story from her grandmother and wondered how her parents had felt when she arrived. They'd both been young, recently married, so much like her and Jack when Wesley had been born. She'd thought of her mother often when Wesley was a baby. Isabel Howard was difficult to picture. Beverly had been very young when she knew her, and it was hard to think of her as anyone but mother.

"See anything up there that's familiar?" Kathryn dragged her attention back down to Earth and the present.

"The Moon always reminds me of my mother."

The street was quiet, and the transporter hub was less than a kilometre away. Mist clung to the edges of the street, omnipresent on a San Francisco night. It was almost cool, and Beverly envied Kathryn's long sleeves.

Kathryn started to walk, leading the way. "Would she have liked me?"

Beverly stopped her, pulling her close enough to look directly into her eyes. Kathryn had been joking, but Beverly was entirely serious. "My mother would have adored you." She paused, leaning in close to kiss her. Kathryn tasted faintly of cake, sweet and dark. "Saving your crew and guiding them through seventy thousand light-years of Delta Quadrant? It's one of Starfleet's best success stories, and she loved a good story. She'd probably want an exclusive on how you're settling back in."

"Journalist?"

"Federation News Service." Beverly crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her hands over her arms. "Her assignment was in the outlying colonies. Life on the frontiers of the Federation. My father was an communications specialist, he'd find work where ever she wanted to go, and she'd write about what it was like to dodge ion storms and make the first solar stills work on a new planet."

"And you stayed with your grandmother?" Kathryn wrapped her arm around Beverly's waist and snuggled closer to share the warmth of her body.

"I was too young to travel long distances and live in rough conditions. I didn't mind, my grandmother always had something interesting for me to do, and my parents always came home." She shivered, but it had little to do with the cold. "Except the last time."

Kathryn squeezed her wrist, shaking her head slowly. "It makes the universe seem like a dark place, doesn't it? That last time when the people you love don't come home."

Though the party had been cheerful and they'd both enjoyed it, loss hovered over them the way the mist clung to the ground. Perhaps it was being happy again, the joy that came from falling desperately in love and contemplating that next step in existence couldn't be contemplated without remembering the last time they'd been happy.

"Kathryn-"

Kathryn stopped them just outside the public transporter. "Hey. Listen, Beverly, I will come home. As long as I'm able, I will come home. I love you and I'm far too stubborn to be kept away from someone I love."

Holding Kathryn's face in her hands, Beverly nodded. She trusted both Kathryn's resolve and her love but the universe wasn't a fair place. People who were meant to come home did not, good people died, planets and civilisations were destroyed: being in love couldn't change any of that.

"I love you to."

"Come on, let's beam home before the maestro eats all my bootlaces out of spite." Kathryn patted her cheek, feigning concern for her footwear as they walked into the transporter hub. The transporter operator, a young cadet who looked like a first or second year, nodded to them and stood at attention as if her spine was made of duranium.

Climbing up on the transporter platform while Kathryn told the operator their destination, Beverly watched as Kathryn walked to her side. The little transporter hub vanished, fading into the light between. When the light came back, the more familiar main hub of Starfleet Command sparkled into existence. It was quiet, and the techs there were much more accustomed to returning admirals and division heads. Beverly and Kathryn earned a few polite nods as they left the hub behind.

Kathryn kissed her twice, once in the gardens of the Academy and once in the corridor on the way to their apartment. These were lazy, half-stolen kisses, the kind that reminded Beverly of simpler times. She caught Kathryn's arm, kissing her against the doorway and slipping her hand beneath Kathryn's jacket. The taste of coffee was on Kathryn's lips, as it usually was. Kathryn wickedly opened the door, sending them both tumbling into their apartment.

The kitchen counter caught them, and Beverly pulled herself up onto it. She left the green skirt of her dress pulled high on her pale thighs.

Kathryn caught her knee, tickling it with her fingertips. "Did I mention what green does to your skin?" Her other hand caught Beverly's other knee. "More importantly, what it does to mine?" She tilted her head up, slipping close enough to kiss.

Leaning down, Beverly closed the last of the space between them. Before she could lose herself in Kathryn's mouth, Da Vinci leapt up next to them, meowing his welcome. The grey tomcat headed for Beverly's arm, headbutting her affectionately.

"Someone's hungry."

Kathryn mock-glared at the cat. "And feeding him is more important than things I'd like to be doing."

"Feeding him takes a lot less time than walking a dog, or bathing one."

The reminder made Kathryn wince at the replicator. "Feline supplement twenty-eight." She set it down next to the maestro's water dish. The cat jumped down happily, purring as he ate. Kathryn stroked him once, chuckling and put her hands on her hips when she stood. "You're not going to let that go, are you?"

Beverly undid the straps of her shoes and set them aside on the counter. "I worry about you. Coming home at twenty-two hundred, exhausted, going into the office at oh-five hundred. You hate mornings."

"I loathe and despise mornings." Kathryn returned to her outstretched hands and ran her warm ones up Beverly's outer thighs. "The Breiddsvalsik have eighteen inhabited planets, a pictograph lingual system that gives the universal translator nightmares, and the most bizarre customs of mathematical reasoning I've ever come across. Captain Ruharin never should have hailed them."

Wrapping her legs feet around Kathryn's back, Beverly pulled her closer and held her there. "You don't have to solve everything in one week. The Federation won't come to an end if you haven't worked out how to trade winter wheat with the Briddensalviss--"

"Breiddsvalsik."

Beverly eased Kathryn's jacket loose, then off her shoulders. The smooth white of her undershirt was bright against her skin. The silk hissed to itself as it fell to the floor. The heat of Kathryn's skin warmed Beverly down to her soul and the parting of their lips came with a sigh.

"If it's really important to you, you can have a dog. I won't mind walking her."

Sighing as it slipped open, Beverly's zipper gave way to Kathryn's hands. Kathryn bared her back, pulling the dress away from her breasts.

"No." Kathryn kissed down Beverly's neck, leaving blossoms of heat behind. "No, no, I'm not home enough. I don't know if I can be. There's always so much to do and I can't seem to stop doing it."

"I'm not upset."

"I know. You worry." Kathryn freed her hair, letting it fall to her shoulders. It was getting long again. Beverly ran her fingers through it, cool and smooth.

"Wouldn't you?"

Kathryn laughed, pulling her undershirt up over her head. "I worry whenever you go work on one of those level four viruses, or spend all night rebuilding someone's spine." Catching the strap of Beverly's dress in her fingers, Kathryn toyed with it nervously. "I haven't felt like this, the way I do about you, in years."

Beverly kissed her, trying to drive away her fear. "Decades."

Reaching around her neck, Kathryn pulled her close and speech was forgotten. With the press of Kathryn's body, the softness of her lips and the wet friction of her tongue, Beverly tightened, like a spring coiling. Kathryn tugged her dress lower, freeing her breasts and slipping her hand inside between fabric and skin. Her cool fingers caressed the lower curve of Beverly's breast, palming the nipple before she squeezed gently. When Beverly moaned, sighing into Kathryn's neck, the pressure increased.

Kathryn's other hand headed up, between Beverly's thighs. Caressing Beverly though the thin fabric of her panties, Kathryn's hands were sure and impatient. The hand on her breast switched to the other, taking the time to tease Beverly's nipple until it was hard and wanting.

Running her hands through Kathryn's hair, Beverly pulled her close and kissed her deeply. Kathryn's exploring fingers continued to tease and Beverly broke the contact of their lips, panting.

"Here?"

Kathryn chuckled wickedly, licking a path down Beverly's chest towards her breasts. "Maybe."

Leaning back, arching her stomach and chest towards Kathryn, Beverly rested her weight on her hands. The metal counter was cold on her hands and even colder on her thighs. She protested towards the ceiling, her breath hitching when Kathryn found a nipple with her mouth.

"The counter's cold."

Licking a path back up to return to Beverly's lips, Kathryn smiled sympathetically. "Poor thing." She cocked her head towards the bedroom and put her hands on Beverly's waist to guide her down. "Come to bed."

Landing on the cold floor, Beverly kept her hands on Kathryn's shoulders while she guided Beverly's dress down to her hips, and then off. It pooled green on the floor in the kitchen. When Beverly reached for it, Kathryn playfully stole her hand away.

"Tidy up tomorrow."

"You work tomorrow."

Kathryn's smile turned impish. "Maybe I won't." She paused in the doorway to the darkened bedroom, sliding her trousers off her slim hips and slipping her panties down with them. In the weak light from the streetlights outside the window, Kathryn was a silhouette in her thin white undershirt.

"You do keep telling me I work too much." Wriggling out of her bra, Kathryn dropped it lazily to the floor. "Maybe I won't. I don't actually need to go to the office."

Padding across the floor, Beverly swept her up and kissed her hungrily. Kathryn gasped, a little low sound that burned through Beverly. After that came the bed and the tumbling to land one of them on top. Kathryn won, perching between Beverly's legs gleefully.

"I love that you wore the green dress." Kathryn licked down Beverly's stomach, massaging her breast with her hand.

Beverly lifted her hips, pressing them up against Kathryn's stomach. "You have such a thing for that dress."

"I like green." Kathryn's mouth wandered downward. "I like you in green."

Beverly laughed, running her hands up over Kathryn's hips and sides. "And out of green."

"Well, out is preferable when we're alone."

Easing Beverly's panties off, Kathryn held them up like a trophy before tossing them aside. Any reply Beverly could have made was swallowed up in her gasp of surprise. Kathryn's nimble fingers stroked and circled. She'd found time to wet them when Beverly had been distracted and Kathryn's fingers teased her clit before slipping down lower. While her fingers found their way inside, opening her up, Kathryn dropped her mouth to Beverly's now abandoned clit.

Regular, incredible sex was truly one of the great blessings of falling in love. Beverly ran her hands through Kathryn's hair, grabbing her shoulders. Panting and twisting beneath Kathryn's touch, Beverly's body surged, winding ever tighter. Dragging Kathryn's head back up, and away, she kissed her clumsily. Finding Kathryn's breasts, she took one, then the other into her hands, pinching the nipples just enough to make Kathryn bite into her lip. Kathryn was wet and slick between her thighs, and aching to be touched enough that Beverly's fingers sent a shudder through her.

Kathryn had to stop touching her as they stripped Kathryn of her shirt, but the return of her strong, knowing fingers made Beverly's teeth start to tingle. Maybe because it was late and they'd already spent more time kissing than they usually had for the endeavour, or perhaps it was the champagne that made both of them so eager. Often they were patient lovers, slowing searching each other's bodies, worshipping the beauty of each other until orgasm took them both.

This was heady, full of gasping and the soft, slick sound of fingers against wet flesh. Kathryn's tongue was in her mouth, then her lips on her breast, hungry and seeking. Beverly clung to her, rolling her fingers faster over her clit, guiding her up, flipping them over so that Kathryn was beneath her. Shaking as her body vibrated through orgasm, Beverly arched away from her, dropping her head to Kathryn's shoulder when the rush took her by surprise. Kathryn taunted her, pushing her further, refusing to let up until Beverly clung to her, halfway to sobbing; completely undone.

Finishing Kathryn off when she was proud of herself was easy, as if Beverly's orgasm was part of Kathryn's foreplay. Beverly watched through hazy eyes as Kathryn's own darkened then widened when she cried out, then panted, laughing beneath her.

Brushing sweaty hair off her forehead, Beverly snuggled into the warmth of Kathryn's chest. She curled up, draping her longer legs around Kathryn's shorter ones. Tracing patterns of the skin of Kathryn's soft stomach, Beverly turned her head, getting a better look at Kathryn's face beyond her full breasts.

"I love you," Beverly's voice was breathy, then settled, "naked."

Kathryn laughed, the deep, rich sort of sound that shook all the way down into her belly. "I should hope so." She rearranged Beverly's hair, tucking it together on one side of Beverly's head. 'Tonight was better because of you."

"I assume sex without me isn't nearly as much fun." Beverly turned her eyes away, settling in against Kathryn's chest.

"My crew-" Kathryn stopped herself because the statement wasn't entirely accurate. She'd never stop thinking of anyone from _Voyager_ as her crew. "My former crew really took to you."

Beverly sat up, smiling down at Kathryn as she steeled her resolve. They'd been orbiting this conversation without having it for weeks. When it stopped being terrifying to say to say 'I love you' and became common, even comforting, the next question had wandered into both of their minds. Kathryn wouldn't ask, Beverly was fairly certain of that. She was in no hurry, yet more and more often she thought of how nice it would be to be partnered again. Belonging to someone could be wonderful, and Kathryn was the one person in the universe she wanted to belong to.

"Well, who wouldn't?"

Kathryn sat halfway up, resting on her elbows. "Thank you."

Pulling the sheets and blankets free, Beverly watched Da Vinci appear in the doorway and contemplate them. She leaned down and kissed Kathryn's forehead. "I love your family, half-Klingons and half-Ktarians included."

Taking her robe from the hook by the bathroom, Beverly brushed her teeth while Kathryn had a conversation with the cat. She smiled indulgently, remembering how many times Kathryn had sworn you couldn't talk to a cat like you could a dog.

"Maestro is pleased with his dinner." Kathryn stole Beverly's robe from her and headed off to brush her teeth and get ready for bed.

Turning down the bed and crawling in naked, Beverly lay on her side and watched Kathryn emerge from the bathroom and naughtily rehang Beverly's robe by the door.

She could happily do this every night for the rest of her life; Kathryn could too. After Kathryn had settled in next to her, Beverly slid over and cuddled in next to her, letting the inevitable marriage question fade back into the background of things unsaid. Kathryn stroked her hair, holding her close with her other hand.

Beverly yawned, letting her eyes shut. "We should see more of them, when they're here. Tom and B'Elanna, Chakotay…we should see them again before _Voyager_ leaves."

Kathryn agreed, and said something else but Beverly drifted, warm and safe. In the morning, she didn't remember falling asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The cat was watching her. Kathryn held her coffee cup tightly, clutching it to her chest as she finished a message to her aide. She didn't need to go to the office. She'd be extraordinarily busy on Monday, but it would be all right.

Beverly hummed to herself as she took breakfast from the replicator. Her hair was tied back, exposing the long line of her neck. She was exquisitely beautiful, almost too much for words. Kathryn had watched her sleep, one of the benefits of being unable to fall asleep herself. She liked watching Beverly's face go slack, and the warmth of her limp fingers on her chest. For some reason, even though Kathryn was smaller, Beverly wound around her.

Da Vinci tilted his head, contemplating her from the counter. Kathryn didn't like him up there, but Beverly insisted the automated cleaning systems were more than enough to take care of the cat being on the counter. He knew Beverly was on his side. Kathryn could see it in his smug little face.

Beverly set a full coffee pot down in the centre of the table and returned to the replicator, still humming. She'd been up long before Kathryn and Kathryn was suspicious that she did all her work then, at oh-seven hundred, just so she could look done with everything when Kathryn woke up. She was evil, after all.

Beverly set a plate in front of her, then kissed her cheek, startling Kathryn away from her thoughts.

"Eat."

"Yes ma'am." French toast, piled high with butter and syrup tempted her as Beverly sat down. "Are we celebrating?"

Breakfast was usually a simple affair, scones and coffee or fruit, eggs and pastry. Neither of them put much work into it, and it had taken months for Kathryn to concede that she was capable of speaking during breakfast. She hadn't, not for years. She ate, drank her coffee and went to the bridge. There was no talking, no necessary connection when she'd been on _Voyager_. She'd ate breakfast because it was necessary. She'd needed food.

Now breakfast was an event, something she shared with Beverly. They didn't always share dinner, and lunch was difficult enough to find time for in either of their days. Breakfast was the only time they could count on having together. French toast was a special occasion food. As were waffles, omelettes and sweet rolls; Kathryn paid that much attention. She got in trouble when she didn't.

"We are." Beverly lifted her coffee mug in a mock toast. "It's been twenty-three days since we both had a day off."

"No-" Kathryn protested. That had to be wrong. They weren't that bad. Each of them usually managed to get a day off or two a week. They'd overlapped a few times, hadn't they? "Really?" She stared at her breakfast, watching butter melt into powdered sugar and slide lazily down the face of her french toast.

"I had to ask the computer to compare our schedules while you were in the shower. I couldn't remember either." Beverly took a bite, chewed and then grinned playfully. "Maybe we shouldn't even bother getting dressed."

"You might be able to convince me to go along with that." Kathryn's knife cut deep into her breakfast and steam rose from the delicate inside of the battered bread. "It might take a little negotiation."

Beverly smirked, reaching across the table to stroke the back of her hand. "I like negotiating with you."

"Your kind of negotiation is far outside ethical boundaries." Shaking her head, Kathryn threatened her with her fork. "And you know it."

"But you like it."

Kathryn paused, returning Beverly's smile as the heady idea that she was completely smitten settled pleasantly over her. "I like almost anything that has to do with you." She inclined her head, staring at Beverly's delicate hand instead of her smile. "I know how cloying that sounds but, it's completely true."

"You are a romantic." Beverly's laughter danced between them: soft and promising.

"Don't remind me. I have a reputation to maintain."  


* * *

They made it all the way to thirteen hundred, which was the first entirely lazy day they'd had together since Kathryn moved in. Kathryn went over paperwork, read reports and replied to the endless list of correspondence she collected every time she walked away from a computer terminal. Beverly lay on the sofa, lazing reading her her head in Kathryn's lap and the cat sitting on the top of the sofa. Da Vinci watched them both, looking over them with patient eyes.

Beverly and the cat were both half-asleep, and the cat was staying awake better then she was. Putting aside her PADD, Kathryn stroked Beverly's forehead, brushing her hair to the side.

"Anything but work in there?" Beverly rolled up, turning her head so she could see Kathryn's eyes.

Wrinkling her nose, Kathryn shook her head slightly. "Not even a note from Phoebe."

Reaching up for Da Vinci's tail, Beverly toyed with the grey fluffy tip. The cat glared at her, then pulled his tail safely out of the way behind him. She smiled at him, then flicked her gaze back to Kathryn. "She's probably busy."

Nodding to her, Kathryn read through Beverly's optimism. Busy was also the word they used to describe Wesley. Wesley was busy; always so. He lost track of time and forgot how much time was passing for his mother. He was a lot like Phoebe that way. Phoebe knew how much time was passing for her, but she didn't pay a lot of attention to Earth.

"He'll write."

Beverly sat up, resting her head on Kathryn's shoulder instead. "I'd really like him to meet you."

Nothing she could say would make Wesley long absences any easier. Kathryn put down her PADD and put her arm around Beverly's waist. "Hey, it's not like I'm going away. I'll be here for years and years. Plenty of time for Wesley to meet me."

Beverly put both of her arms around Kathryn and held her close, embracing her tightly. The warmth of her was comforting; Beverly needed her in this moment and that was something Kathryn could be for her. She could be stable, strong and constant for her; someone who wouldn't leave her, as so many others had. Beverly's parents, Jack, her grandmother, even Wesley in his own way, had left Beverly alone.

"He'll like you."

Kathryn nuzzled the side of Beverly's neck, then pointed at the yellow eyes of Da Vinci, as he sat watching them. "You said that about the cat."

Cooing her surprise, Beverly looked at Da Vinci. "He likes you."

"He sits on your lap, sleeps on your side of the bed."

Clucking her tongue towards the cat, Beverly called him over. He eyed them both, with that cat suspicion. She continued to call him, coaxing him over and patting Kathryn's lap.

"He won't-"

"Shhhhh!" Beverly interrupted. "You'll scare him."

"So he does hate me!"

Beverly's elbow slammed playfully into Kathryn's side. "Hush."

The cat stretched languorously and rolled his head on his shoulders. Keeping his eyes on Beverly, he stalked towards them both, taking his time with his tail high in the air. He put one paw on Kathryn's lap, as if testing for traps. She held perfectly still, letting Beverly rub the maestro's head. A second paw rested on Kathryn's thigh, then the maestro purred, pleased with his head scratching.

Flexing out as he kneaded her leg, Da Vinci's sharp claws stung a little. Kathryn winced and Beverly quieted her with a kiss.

"Wait, let him settle. He'll only have his claws out for a moment."

Frowning slightly, Kathryn held still and waited for the cat to relax down into her lap. He stepped forward, adding a third and fourth foot until his full weight rested on Kathryn's lap.

"Rub his head, and he'll lie down. He does like you. You just move around more than he'd like you to."

"You're the one who fidgets."

Slowly lowering himself down onto Kathryn's lap, Da Vinci curled his feet beneath him, settling down like a loaf of bread on her lap. He sat perfectly still, rumbling a purr in his little chest. Almost afraid to touch him, lest his claws extend again, she brought her hand down very gently on his soft head.

"Don't be too timid. You'll annoy him and claws--"

The comm system beeped in the kitchen. Annoyed, Da Vinci opened his eyes and the purr stopped. Kathryn petted his head, just like she'd been told hundreds of times. She knew how to pet the cat, but she loved Beverly's explanation. There was something so endearing about the care she took with it, even though Kathryn had heard it all before.

"I'll get it." Beverly carefully left the sofa and headed for the kitchen. "Though it's probably for you."

The cat settled back down, decided that Kathryn was worthy of purring, and kept his claws away from her legs. Petting him was pleasant, rhythmic and soothing. When he wasn't in the way, or sharp, she did like the maestro. He certainly had no trouble living up to his name, and he provided balance to the apartment. He was very male; sometimes that was a good thing.  


* * *

Beverly didn't return immediately. In fact, she was gone long enough that Kathryn picked up her PADD and went back to work. Beverly stole a glance across the computer screen as Admiral Jellico waited for his chief medical officer to arrive. She was running late, and Beverly could see the annoyance in the admiral's face. He'd never been patient; Beverly remembered that from his brief tour on the _Enterprise._ Though they'd seen each other in passing, and she'd heard of his promotion to admiral, Beverly had been giving him the benefit of the doubt. Jean-Luc barely seemed to age, growing more distinguished as time passed. Jellico had sharper lines on his face, and more grey in his hair. She spent half a moment wondering what he hung on his office wall now. Still pictures drawn by his son?

Jellico's CMO was an elegant Vulcan woman comfortably in her second century. Her long silver-black hair was neatly tied back; when she was closer to the screen, Beverly could see the faint green smudges beneath her eyes. It had been awhile since she'd slept. Even though her commanding officer was obviously harried, she entered Jellico's office with a quiet nod of apology. "My apologies, Admiral. My delay was unavoidable. "

"Doctor Crusher, this is my chief medical officer Doctor V'Konna."

"I hope I can be of assistance to you. I have found your work insightful over the years."

Beverly smiled at the screen. Working with a Vulcan again would be pleasant and efficient, Beverly had enjoyed an excellent working relationship with Doctor Selar. Jellico would be a headache, but V'Konna would be an ally and it seemed like she was going to need one.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Forgive the lack of formalities, I have requested your assistance because I have isolated an unknown viral pathogen. The freighter _SuHn'Nos_ arrived four days ago and failed to pass initial quarantine inspection. Of the initial crew of eleven Klingons, four have died and the remainder are all showing symptoms of a virulent and deadly viral infection. Biocontainment fields have been in constant use to prevent transmission, but we detected significant amounts of the virus on the consoles and surfaces of the freighter, indicating possible airborne vectors."

Frowning, Beverly kept her eyes on the V'Konna and ignored Jellico's harsh expression. "Klingon immune systems are some of more active in the Alpha Quadrant, something that would effect eleven of them so quickly--"

"May be a very grave threat." V'Konna hit the PADD in her hands, calling up her data and transmitting it to the viewscreen. "The virus manifests with a low grade fever, and replicates first in the kidneys, leading to renal failure and severe damage of the liver. An unrelated, and puzzling secondary symptom is the development of severe abnormal cataracts. After the destruction of the kidneys, the virus moves into the pulmonary tissues causing pneumonia and death. No anti-viral treatment has succeeded in stopping or slowing the development of the virus. Your assistance would be useful. I will transmit the data I have collected. It may be of use."

Jellico circled his desk, not looking at her as he spoke. "If it is acceptable to you, Doctor, I've cleared it for you and your team to travel on board the _Enterprise_ when she leaves Earth in six hours. Doctor V'Konna and I agree that this virus needs to be studied so we know how to ensure containment in the future. Provided you have no objections, Doctor?"

Beverly tightened her hand on the counter but said nothing. Jellico was being as polite as he thought he needed to be. She held the rank of commander, but her position as head of Starfleet Medical meant that she demanded more respect than he wanted to give her. Working with him would be just as pleasant as it was years ago, at least now, no one she cared about was in danger.

"I'll prepare my team. I assume Captain Picard has given you the _Enterprise's_ E.T.A.?"

"Twenty-eight hours."

V'Konna's expression remained neutral. "I anticipate one or two of the patients may still be alive then. Klingons are strong. They may be able to resist the virus."

"I'll see you then, good luck Doctor, Admiral. Crusher out."

Kidney failure, pulmonary oedema and blinding cataracts: nothing immediately sprang to mind. She'd have most of a day to go over what V'Konna had to send her, perhaps there would be something she could find. Some clue that would lead to the unraveling of the viral mystery. It would take time, several days travelling there and back, and a week, maybe more to study the transmission vectors and the protein coat of this virus.

That meant leaving Kathryn. Putting her excitement at the idea of a new challenge aside, Beverly crossed her arms over her chest. She'd be back soon, before Kathryn had time to let all the houseplants die of neglect and go to war with the cat.

To her great surprise, the cat was still contented on Kathryn's lap when she re-entered the living room. Da Vinci didn't even lift his head to watch her. Stroking him slowly, Kathryn actually seemed to be enjoying his presence.

"Did you know, the Breiddsvalsik Consortium has eight different ways of calculating the weight of grain? And," Kathryn paused, pursing her lips as her tone grew bitter and sarcastic, "they decided it was too centralised of the government to impose one system, so all eight are still used. To determine how much quadrotriticale they have to trade, I had to use seven conversion coefficients."

Beverly crouched down in front of her, smiling in sympathy. Rubbing Da Vinci's head, she looked up at Kathryn and delighted in her frustration. There was something so indescribably adorable about her when she wanted to throw her PADD across the room.

Kathryn set the PADD on the arm of the sofa and leaned down, careful not to dislodge the cat.

"You should know, if you're going away, I'll probably kill the plants."

"Deep Space Five has an outbreak of a rare corona-virus their CMO has never seen before." Beverly closed her hand on Kathryn's knee. "I'll be gone a week, maybe two."

"How long will the plants last without water?"

"You'll keep them alive." Beverly had complete faith that Kathryn was much more domestic than she ever gave herself credit for being. "Maestro will keep an eye on you. When he's hungry, take a look at the plants, see if they need to be fed too. Easy enough."

"Corona-virus?"

"Something that came in on a Klingon freighter. "

"I'm not the professional, but Klingons don't have a lot of plagues. Their immune systems are so violent."

"That's why I have to get a look at it. See how something like that came into existence, how it got on this particular freighter and how it's killing the crew."

Kathryn must have read it in her face that the crew was doomed. She didn't ask about them and instead covered Beverly's hand with hers. "Be careful."

"I am." Beverly sat up enough to put herself level with Kathryn's face. 'I have every reason in the universe to be."

"I like to think so."

Slinking off Kathryn's lap in a mild huff, Da Vinci settled himself on the window and ignored them both while Beverly packed her small suitcase and Kathryn helped her change. It mattered little to him that it took both of them being naked to help Beverly get dressed: he had a sunbeam and his fur was warm.

"Does the cat know to stay away from the baby before she makes him all sticky?" Tom rounded the table and kept an eye on the staring contest between the admiral's cat and his daughter.

Kathryn glanced at the animal, who was sitting far out of reach of Miral's chubby hands. "He's pretty quick when he wants to be. I'm sure he understands that she poses a direct threat to his dignity."

"I still can't believe you have one." B'Elanna stopped peering over Chakotay's shoulder and stood in the kitchen with a grin. "It's a cat."

"Didn't you once call cats the root of all evil and compare them to Q?"

Kathryn swirled her glass of wine and chuckled. "It's entirely possible."

For his part, Da Vinci stalked past Miral slowly, letting her chase his tempting plume of a tail with curious hands before he leapt to the top of the bookcase and watched her like a deposed monarch eyeing his throne.

Beverly would have found the whole exchange amusing, and she definitely would have been down there with Tom, playing with the baby. She'd missed having a girl. No part of Beverly regretted Wesley, but Kathryn knew she'd wanted a girl too. She'd grown up an only child and missed the loving torment that only a sibling could provide. Wesley had missed that too.

How was he going to feel about his mother marrying and starting a family again? It wasn't unheard of, lives were long and relationships changed with time. What felt right at twenty was entirely different at forty-five. Kathryn probably wouldn't have even contemplated Justin as anything more than a friend if she met him now, but she'd loved him once.

"They're fun you know." B'Elanna mused next to her. "They pull your hair and make your breasts swell up, ruin your sleep, spill sticky things on PADDs and parts of the wall you didn't even know could be sticky."

Longing for a child wasn't new, but the severity of her wanting surprised her. "Sounds incredible." Kathryn must have let too much into her voice because she drew a curious look from B'Elanna.

"Have you talked about children?" It was a bold question from the young woman who still had trouble with Kathryn's first name.

"I bet she has." Chakotay, of course, was insidious, stirring something sizzling on the stove. He claimed it was an old family recipe and he'd insisted on using the real kitchen. It smelt amazing, like toasting onions and fresh garlic.

Tom lifted his head and aimed Miral's hand in a wave towards Kathryn. "She'd take a playmate. If you and the good doctor wanted to--"

B'Elanna tossed one of Chakotay's peppers in her husband's direction; Tom laughed as he tossed it back.

"Can't tell me they wouldn't have cute kids."

Chakotay took the pepper from B'Elanna and began chopping it into neat sections. "Beverly's hair."

"The admiral's eyes." Tom added from the floor.

B'Elanna took the time to picture it. "You think so?"

"I think the Janeway Death Glare is definitely a dominant gene." Tom set the baby gently into her portable playpen and watched her eye the cat with wonder through the sides.

Chakotay passed Kathryn a spoon to try some of his dark, smoky sauce. "Here. Try this."

"While you decide what my future children will look like?"

"Hush." Chakotay handed her the spoon and returned to his peppers. "I bet you'll pick an incredible intelligent, attractive donor and settle down with the dear doctor to raise a whole set of baby Janeways."

B'Elanna patted her shoulder sympathetically and took the spoon Kathryn hadn't yet tried. She smiled and licked it clean. "You love Miral and Naomi. Why not have a few of your own?"

"We'll even babysit," Tom promised, leaning over the counter. "I'll volunteer my mom and dad too. Now that he's retired he just can't get enough of Miral."

"He'd love chasing a few more around the yard."

"A few?"

"A set." B'Elanna sipped her wine.

Tom stole her glass and downed the last of it. "A triad?"

"A quad?"

Kathryn put up her hand to stop the speculation. "Beverly and I are only dating."

"You have a cat," Chakotay reminded her. Dropping peppers into the pan, he grinned through the steam. "That's a commitment."

"A cat is a commitment?"

Tom shrugged, refilling B'Elanna's glass. "Well, sure. Whose cat is it?"

"Bever-" Kathryn stopped and realised she was trapped, "Ours."

B'Elanna smirked and grabbed the plates from the cupboard. "Three to one they get married before next year's reunion."

"Before Federation day," Tom upped the wager, "and five to one. What do you think, Captain?"

Chakotay might have been her only chance at an ally. Tom and B'Elanna were certainly united against her but Chakotay had been more rational. He was less likely to give her a hard time for not being married, or being about to be married, or- and the thought of it made her stomach skip- considering having children. Chakotay would step in and rescue her from her mutinous former officers.

Looking from Kathryn to their young friends, Chakotay shrugged, dimples clearly visible as he grinned. "I think it would be unfair of me to bet."

Tom chuckled and B'Elanna frowned mercilessly. "He has insider information."

Putting her hands up in surrender, Kathryn clutched her wine closer to her chest and retreated towards the table. "Not from me."

"He knows Beverly." Tom dropped his voice to a stage whisper, as if trying to prevent Kathryn from hearing. "We should leave her alone. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

"Surprise?" Pausing as she set the cutlery on the table, B'Elanna put her hand on her hip and glared at her husband. "Being near-death in a shuttle race doesn't really count as a surprise."

"I don't think Beverly will need to threaten the admiral's life to marry her. She's classier than I am." Circling the table, Tom caught her up in his arms and moved in for a kiss.

Kathryn turned her head away, letting them have their moment. Meeting Chakotay's eyes, she found only acceptance. He liked Beverly, respected her intelligence and professionalism; more than that, he thought they were good together. How long had it been since anyone had told her that? Her friends had been few and far between after Justin and her father died. Kathryn threw herself into her work and once one was in the command track, it was not easy to make friends. She'd needed distance, something to protect herself from being as lost as she had been. Command training encouraged the space between first officer and crew. She could be friendly, but she was no one's friend.

Her mother wanted her to be happy, and if Mark made her happy, Gretchen was content. Phoebe thought he was boring, and she'd found Justin emotionally stunted and about as warm as an Andorian winter. It hadn't mattered if her family liked the men she loved. Her family wasn't marrying them, Kathryn was and she'd loved them.

Now something was different. Chakotay refilled her wine glass and nodded, smiling calmly. He already knew what she was going to do. "You two are going to be great parents."

Not _would be_ , but _going to be_. He'd mapped out their fate for them. He loved her like a sister and he thought she should marry Beverly. So did her mother. Oddly enough, even Phoebe was on the side of marriage. After all, she already had an apartment, houseplants and a cat, surely marriage and children had to follow?

"Thank you." Kathryn took her seat, marvelling at the rich colours of dinner, bright red peppers and yellow saffron rice, as well as the equally tantalising smell of chilli and coriander. She had no idea what they were eating. She'd been too distracted by Miral to pay any attention at all to the menu Chakotay had explained.

"You've already been like a mother to me." B'Elanna's expression was remarkably soft, even sentimental. "Whenever I needed one, which is probably more often than I care to admit."

"Me too." Tom piped up, grinning wickedly as he fetched Miral and loaded her into a high chair so she could have her chance to toss Chakotay's beautifully prepared dinner all over the house. "You certainly scold like one."

Chakotay squeezed her shoulder, resting his warm hand against her until the tears in her eyes stopped stinging and threatening to run free down her face. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't invade your home and tell you what to do with your life."

Tom made faces at Miral while she settled in to her chair. "That's what family does."

B'Elanna was struggling with her own emotions and unlike her husband, she wasn't accustomed to laughing them away. "We like seeing you happy, Admiral."

She could have hugged them both, but getting up to do so would have embarrassed them. Kathryn took a deep breath and smiled, however tentatively. "If you're going to tease me about marriage and children we might need to rethink the two of you using my first name."

Chakotay lifted the serving spoon and began dishing out his creation. "It can be done. Though it did take me about a year to get used to it."

"I thought 'captain' was your first name." Tom quipped. "Admiral Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation. It's a bit of a mouthful, but you've always carried it off with style."

B'Elanna glared at him and Miral took a handful of the rice Chakotay had just given her and offered it mashed in her hand, as if showing her own toddler disapproval for the joke.

"Aren't you glad we're spending a whole week in dry-dock?" Chakotay concluded, taking his seat next to her. "Think of all the fun you'd be missing without us."

Kathryn settled in to the easy banter and the lazy, if constant, teasing she drew from her friends. As they ate, she remembered Beverly insisting that the most important part of a meal with friends was that it fed her on a deeper level than simple nutrition. She needed this, as emotional as it was, like she needed protein, or water. She needed their encouragement, their good humour and enthusiasm, most of all, she needed their affection and support. She'd denied it to herself, choosing distance over connection, and now, now it felt too incredible to be true.

Yet here they were: her haphazard, loving little family, and they were more than happy to welcome Beverly into their midst. That almost gave her a responsibility, didn't it? Beverly belonged here, with her, in this family. Even if it terrified her.  


* * *

"I see your fifty and raise you another." Geordi pushed the chips forward, holding back a smile. Worf had already thrown in his cards, the big Klingon had no taste for bluffing. Jean-Luc had held out valiantly, but he'd been losing all night and Beverly knew he didn't have anything that could beat her full house, queens full of nines. Geordi either had it, or he was taunting her for old time's sake. Either way, she was in.

"Fifty." Beverly dropped the chips lazily into the pot. "And two hundred."

Jean-Luc laughed, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. "Are you sure you haven't been sitting in on the _Titan's_ poker game a little too often?"

"Admiral Nechayev frequently runs baccarat nights in a dark little bar near Starfleet headquarters. Would you believe admirals all bet like crazed Ferengi with nothing to lose?"

"Including yours?" Worf rumbled, nearly distracting Beverly from watching Geordi's face for a tell.

"My admiral," Beverly pursed her lips and smiled as good-naturedly as she could, "is a pool hustler, a bit of a card shark, and should never be believed about her prowess in a game if you can help it."

"She exaggerates?" Geordi fingered his chips, deciding if he wanted to risk it.

Smirking, Beverly set her cards face down on the table, ready to reveal them. "She plays naive. Does it with great skill, actually. If I had time, I'd pull her into a Shakespearean production."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow. "Portia?"

"Beatrice."

Laughing again, Jean-Luc turned his attention to the stand off between Beverly and Geordi. "The _Enterprise_ hasn't been the same without you, Doctor."

Worf nodded his agreement and Geordi sighed, reaching for his chips.

"This isn't going to end well, is it Doc?"

"It would hardly be professional of me to give you a prognosis that negative."

"She means you are doomed," Worf elaborated for him.

"Thanks Worf." Geordi dropped in the four gold chips and reached for his cards. "Call."

Beverly flipped over her cards slowly, revealing first the two pair, then the final queen to seal it.

Laughing ruefully, Geordi turned over three kings and shook his head as he watched her rake in most of his chips. "That might do it for me. I can only lose so much before I don't have enough pride to look my staff in the eye in the morning."

"You could return to wearing your VISOR. That way you would be protected from the sight of their eyes." Worf's conclusion was elegant and delivered so drolly Beverly had to chuckle with Jean-Luc.

The mood had been light and easy with her old friends since she'd arrived. They'd been quick to work time in around their duty schedules. Between breakfasts, dinners and poker games, Beverly's three days on the _Enterprise_ were so full that she had to be careful to spend enough time with her virus.

A predicted fatality of one hundred percent wasn't unheard of in such a small sample size, but it was unnerving. Her patients weren't refuges or children with compromised immune systems; this virus was killing healthy adults, Klingons in the peak of health, and it was doing it with astonishing speed. She was secretly glad whenever one of them had the time to steal her from her work. She needed the break. When she reached Deep Space Five, she'd live the virus until the protein coat was understood, the RNA unravelled and all its mysteries unlocked.

"Well, Doc, I can't say my credits have missed you, but, it's great to see you again."

"You too." She glanced around at the men she'd spent so many years with, all of them like the brothers she'd never had growing up. "All of you."

Worf stood, inclining his head towards the replicator. "Would anyone like anything?"

"I have a bottle of wine for the occasion." Jean-Luc stood and retreated to a corner of his quarters.

Outside his large windows stars flew past at warp and for a moment, Beverly was nostalgic for her own quarters, just down the corridor. Of course, they weren't hers anymore. Jean-Luc's new chief medical officer, Doctor sh'Duriya, had worked many years to earn her posting on the _Enterprise_ and it was hers. Beverly had no intention of returning to space on a semi-permanent basis unless it involved Admiral Janeway getting a ship of her own.

She had been thinking about children more than she wanted to admit. This _Enterprise_ had undergone several refits over the years, and with the war over, a few children had returned to their families. Not enough for secondary school plays and Captain Picard Day, but enough that the _Enterprise_ was home to families. Somehow that made it more complete.

Jean-Luc handed her a glass of wine and the four of them raised their glasses in toast. "To returning friends."

"Don't suppose there's any chance of a rendezvous with the _Titan_ on our course?"

Jean-Luc eyed his wine, watching the legs on the glass with keen interest. "Not this time, I'm afraid. She's out on the far reaches again, exploring." His trace of jealousy made Geordi chuckle.

"I think I remember exploring. Back before we were the only ship in the quadrant that can ferry important diplomats and presidential envoys."

"Affairs of state are not as exciting as new worlds." Worf agreed, but tempered it. "A lack of excitement is often a good thing."

All of their lives had been too exciting during the war. There were even days Beverly envied Kathryn's disconnection from the conflict with the Dominion. The Delta Quadrant had its own share of catastrophes, but the loss of life and friends in the war had been staggering.

"That's not terribly Klingon of you, Mr. Worf."

"Even a Klingon appreciates having time to reflect on what has passed. If we were constantly at war, when would we write songs of valour and glory?" Worf nodded again to Beverly and lifted his glass. His dark eyes turned curious. "How is Admiral Janeway?"

Beverly wouldn't have guessed that Worf would be the one to bring up Kathryn, but it saved her the trouble. For a moment, she wondered if Jean-Luc would be upset. He had loved her once, years ago, but they'd never pursued it. Their friendship was too important to either of them to risk a relationship, and the necessary spark hadn't been there. Perhaps once she'd known how he felt, what she wanted in a relationship had already been changing. When Kathryn had stumbled into her life by trying to avoid her annual physical, she'd been immediately intrigued by her. Utterly fascinated in a way she hadn't felt since Jack.

She'd been smitten, consumed, even enthralled by Kathryn's every action. She made room in her life, moulded her actions around Kathryn, and shared herself in a way she'd avoided for so many years.

"She's learning to like the cat."

Geordi and Worf both winced slightly. Spot had left her mark on them, and neither of them had forgiven her for her actions.

Jean-Luc was less prejudiced against felines and smiled over his deep red wine. "You converted her then?"

"She's not home enough for a dog, and I don't want one enough to be the one who takes care of it. Nothing against dogs, really. Da Vinci's social enough to be nearly canine, and he doesn't need to be taken out in the San Francisco rain."

"Do you think you'll be staying there?" Geordi picked up the chips and stacked them away. The poker set had been a going-away present from Will to Data, and the chips had been used ever since Data's untimely death. Geordi even occasionally wore Data's antique green visor when he missed his dear friend.

"You could ask for an apartment somewhere else. Egypt, where it's dry, or Italy, where the winters are milder and the summers are beautiful."

"Or France?"

Jean-Luc's expression remained forcibly neutral. "I'd never be partial to my homeland."

"Of course not."

Worf finished his wine. The glass was remarkably small in his huge hands. "Russia is very cold. You might not like the weather much more than San Francisco, unless you like the biting snow."

"Transporting out of one time zone into another always exhausts me. Leaving sunshine for darkness or darkness for dawn confuses my internal clock." Beverly sipped her wine and sighed. "Too much time on starships."

The _Enterprise _did have an enviable rhythm. She kept her own time, and as long as you were on board, you were part of that bubble. It was very comfortable, and it had been a wonderful fifteen years.__

"We're discussing Chile or the coast of Peru. Something a little quieter-"

"But still close to the same time zone." Geordi beamed. "Smart."

"Quieter because you're settling down or quieter for other reasons?" Jean-Luc was much harder to read when he wasn't trying to keep his poker face. As a diplomat, he was far more skilled than at cards. If he suspected, as Deanna immediately had, that settling down meant Kathryn, a dog and children, he was less forward about his suspicions.

"I have only been to the South American continent for wilderness survival training. I assume you would not live deep in the Amazon rainforest."

Beverly smiled gratefully and took a seat on the sofa. "No, something much closer to the transport hub in case of emergencies. It is nice to be able to walk to work each day, but San Francisco is so full of Starfleet."

"Admiral Janeway's not trying to convince you to move to her home region?" Jean-Luc paused, trying to remember where Kathryn was from, "Illinois, was it?"

"Indiana." Beverly finished the last of her wine and watched lazily as Jean-Luc tipped more into her glass. He took the sofa next to her while Worf and Geordi took chairs. "It's close to her heart, and I know she loved growing up there, but I don't know if I'm the old farmhouse type. To be fair, Kathryn really isn't either. Take away her replicator and the state of the art computer system and we're both a little lost. I love the idea of being able to walk out onto the beach or be part of a little village instead of a city."

The three men around her contemplated her in silence. Will would have brought it up, but these were quieter men. Jean-Luc and Worf shared a look that passed Geordi's notice.

"A sense of community is important when you are building something new." Worf was taunting her now. Did she want to take the bait? Telling these men, her dear friends, that she intended to marry Kathryn was making a promise to herself that she would make it happen.

What could she tell them? That she wanted Kathryn but didn't dare propose because Kathryn's response to another engagement might be less than enthusiastic. It wouldn't be Beverly that she rejected, and Beverly was sure enough of their relationship that she knew Kathryn would say yes, even if it clawed at her soul.

She stared into her glass, watching the reflections of starlines in the calm red surface. "Kathryn's been engaged twice, and each time it's ended badly for her."

"Loss does not mean we stop trying to find what we want from the universe." Worf's voice was firm; he understood better than anyone what it was to lose someone he loved. He'd lost two mates, and still approached life, even his love-life, according to Geordi's gossip about Worf and the new chief of security, with Klingon gusto. "You will have better luck."

Jean-Luc rested his hand firmly on her shoulder, calming her with a touch. "If you and Kathryn have decided you wish to spend the rest of your lives together, you will certainly have our support. No matter how we can offer it."

Geordi piped up. "I love a good wedding."

"If you wish a 'good' wedding, I suggest the traditional Klingon ceremony. Better wardrobe."

"You'd look wonderful in red leather." Jean-Luc's eyes glinted in amusement. "Admiral Janeway as well."

"I'll keep that in mind." Beverly drank her wine, letting it warm her throat. How and where weren't important. If she was going to ask Kathryn to marry her, she knew what both of them would think of most was the when. Maybe it was better to wait: to hold off on asking until they were within quick reach of someone to marry them and a set of witnesses. There was something to be said for not tempting fate when one wanted to beg her favour.


	4. Chapter 4

Admiral Jellico had grown less patient and possibly less pleasant with age. Beverly was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was stressed, even exhausted by his position as commander of such a busy station, and this Klingon virus was a minor crisis. Adding that on top of the rest was less than helpful. After Jean-Luc's kind farewell and his assurances that Beverly should trust her heart when it came to Kathryn, beaming into Jellico's transporter room and being met by the displeased admiral himself was less than cheering.

Luckily, Doctor V'Konna wanted to see her immediately, and after a moment or two of tension, Jellico passed Beverly off to two young ensigns. One of them took her bag to the quarters she'd barely see, and the other led her down to the station's vast infirmary.

Both the _Enterprise_ s had expansive, beautifully designed sickbays. They were efficient, well stocked and had excellent labs. Starfleet Medical had sleek laboratory facilities that were among the best in the Federation. At times, Starfleet Medical was too efficient. There were days when Beverly's job was seamlessly easy. The challenges she'd run into on the _Enterprise_ were often hers alone. Puzzles she had to solve before the entire crew was lost. That didn't happen at Starfleet Medical. Work she directed and delegated saved the lives of millions, but she was often just the one checking over others' research.

Out here, she was on the frontier again. She'd visited the infirmaries of Stuttgart-class space stations before and this one had a Vulcan's touch. Nothing was out of place, even as medical techs moved around purposefully. Deep Space Five followed the same design as Three, Four and Six. The intensive care and quarantine unit would be in the rear, furthest from the general public and closest to the emergency ventilation systems. She'd expected several nurses, even some of the other doctors, working in the ICU, but it was quiet when she arrived. Six beds were occupied by unconscious Klingons but the indicator lights above them were weak and waning.

Their of their normally dark skin was pale, even puffy from water retention. Their kidneys had long since ceased filtering their blood, and some of their tissues might have liquefied to add to the volume of water swelling their bodies. The proud ridges of their foreheads were splotched with pink, and some of their skin was starting to slough. Their eyes were shut, and that unconsciousness, however un-Klingon, must have been a blessing.

One of the young nurses noticed her as he checked his patients dying readings. "Are you Doctor Crusher?"

"Yes. I'm looking for Doctor V'Konna."

"Doctor V'Konna is in the autopsy suite. Would you like me to direct you?"

Beverly shook her head and mentally prepared herself for the sober reality of several autopsies all showing the effects of the same brutal virus. "I'll find it." Another nurse joined the first and stood silently at the bedside of the other Klingon. Her life signs were fading slightly faster than her crewmate, and the indicators were starting to turn red and flash. That Klingon had an hour at most before she'd cross to the other side.

Were these Starfleet nurses performing the death howl? Would she direct her staff to respect Klingon tradition back on Earth? It was up to V'Konna and how she managed her infirmary. Beverly slipped into the sterile changing area and began stripping off her uniform. The indicator above the door in the autopsy suite recommended maximum precautions. Full decontamination, self-contained breathing apparatus, and a fully disposable jumpsuit. As she left her bra and panties folded neatly inside her uniform and began to pull on the formfitting, marshmallow-textured disposable jumpsuit, Beverly's mind supplied the morbid detail that it was convenient that Klingon death rituals cared so little for the body. No family would even concern themselves with how the shell was treated.

That might be the only easy thing she found on the other side of the door. Tying back her red-gold hair, Beverly slipped the tight red hood on over her hair and took her last breath of fresh air before she snapped the breather mask on over her face. It immediately clicked on, and even though she knew there was no way it could have already smelt stale, she could have sworn it did.

Doctor V'Konna was the red figure with the tight hood leaning over the third in a long line of bodies. She looked up as the hiss of the airlock between changing room and morgue opened and closed. She tapped her internal comm, turning it on.

"Doctor Crusher. Your arrival is timely."

"I came straight here."

V'Konna indicated the open chest cavity of the Klingon in front of her. "Please assist me with this post-mortem analysis. I have completed the first two, and my findings have been identical. This autopsy will benefit from your expertise in the event that I have missed something."

Beverly approached the cart carrying the body. Putting emotion from her mind, she let the body in front of her cease to be a sentient being and become the sum of its parts. It was a puzzle, and if she wanted to keep others alive, she would solve the puzzle. Take the virus apart down to the atoms. She'd beat it. Send it back to the ether from which it had appeared. Maybe, if they worked together, they'd find an answer that would save the lives of the dying. At the very least, she could find some peace for the already dead.  


* * *

When _Voyager_ left orbit, the acute emptiness of Kathryn's life began to sink in. Chakotay, Tom, B'Elanna and the baby had been a constant distraction. Harry had been spending most of his free time with Libby Webber, but even he had found time to share a cup of coffee before _Voyager_ left. The plants were still alive. Beverly had been gone nine whole days and the plants were still alive. In fact, one of the bigger ones, with flat leaves and palm-like bark on the central stem, was blooming. Huge white blossoms had appeared two days ago and they filled that corner of the living room with a gentle, almost lilac, scent. Kathryn took holos, in case the plant died before Beverly came home, or if it was rare and the flowering was something special.

The maestro had no interest in eating them, which calmed her. One of her dogs, the lab, would have had no end of fun with flowers that big.

Kathryn's attempts at being home early were sharply put on hold when Beverly left. Without her, there was no point in coming home before dinner, so Kathryn remained in the office. Da Vinci exorcised his displeasure at her absence by sleeping on Beverly's side of the bed, something neither of them usually allowed. After she woke up in a cold sweat, lost in a half-remembered dream that had something to do with the empty black void they'd found in the Delta Quadrant, Kathryn realised the rumbling purr of the large cat was comforting.

So she let him stay. She wrote her mother, Tuvok and Seven. _Voyager_ had only just left, so she didn't dare write them, though she thought about it. Seven reminded her that being without the people that formed her collective was disconcerting, and offered to spend time with her as soon as she returned from the anti-Borg security briefing on Tellar. Kathryn put the date on her personal calendar and had to force herself not to count the days.

Beverly wrote. First cheerful, upbeat letters from the _Enterprise_ on her journey to Deep Space Five. Once she reached the station, and began the work of autopsying the dead and studying the brutal efficiency of the virus they were now calling the SuHn'Nos virus, after the ship that had found it, Beverly's letters had become shorter. She was tired. The virus was far more complex than anyone had anticipated, with mutations in the protein coat not yet seen in an Alpha Quadrant virus. If the unlucky freighter had stumbled on something hidden in a long forgotten tomb, or previously unwalked jungle, none of them were alive to explain it, and their computer records were poorly kept.

Kathryn set down her PADD and shut her eyes, hoping that would be enough to fall asleep. It was late enough, but her mind was whirring like a forcefield. She'd finally been able to come up with an acceptable framework for the Breiddsvalsik Consortium's medical technology sharing treaty and she'd handed it off to the real policy writers. The ambassadors could deal with their systems of weights and measures and figure out how in all the stars, they could convert three types of numbers into one.

Her head hurt. If she got up now, she could take a hypo and hope that sleep found her as the headache vanished. She'd been trying not to depend too heavily on anaesthetic hypos; she'd been working too hard. If she was admitting that, Kathryn missed Beverly more than she'd thought. The round feet of the cat ran over her stomach in a line like pressure points in one of her former doctor's massages. He settled down over her stomach, rounded out with his feet beneath him. Da Vinci closed his eyes, settling in to purr until he fell asleep. Without even really thinking about it, Kathryn began to stroke him, letting her fingers sink into his soft, warm fur.

She could ignore this headache and it would be gone when she woke. She'd take a shower, eat something with her coffee and go back to the office. Her next project was an aquatic species discovered in sector three-eight-five. Maybe they had sensible math.

Still petting the cat, she startled herself out of sleep when he chirped. Cats couldn't chirp, but she was certain Da Vinci had just chirped like the comm system.

From the way his gold eyes regarded her with disdain at being awakened, Kathryn realised the chirping had been the comm system, not the cat.

"Janeway here." She told the computer, which acknowledged and opened the transmission on the screen by her bed. Sitting up, Kathryn had her arms full of sleepy, annoyed cat as Beverly's face appeared on the screen.

"I woke you."

"No, no." Kathryn's lie was made all the more opaque by her yawn. "Yes but I'm happy you did."

"The maestro doesn't seem to be."

Rubbing the back of Da Vinci's head, Kathryn tried to settle him down, as Beverly could. To her surprise, the cat sat down and allowed her to continue playing with the fur behind his ears.

"He misses you."

"But you're getting along."

"I assure you it's out of desperation. Without you we're both so lonely for company that we had to attempt to get along. It'll end the moment you come home."

Beverly laughed, which put life in her eyes. Dark smudges beneath them suggested that she'd been sleeping less than Kathryn. "Thank you for writing."

"I write too much."

Shaking her head, Beverly ran her fingers through her hair and stopped with them on the back of her neck. She had a headache too. Since Beverly's were far more rare than Kathryn's, she was instantly sympathetic.

"I was going to ask you to write more."

Now Kathryn laughed, looking down at the cat for back up. "Now you're just teasing me. Don't you agree?"

"You can't turn him against me."

"I can try."

A mug floated into the screen and Beverly clung to it with both hands before she drank. "I'm sorry I can't write as often as you do."

"You're busy."

"You're making yourself busy."

"Writing you keeps me from making myself insanely busy."

"Then keep writing."

Kathryn smiled at the screen, her heart melting in her chest. "Okay."

Beverly yawned into her cup, then returned her smile shyly. "I love you."

"Because I'm writing too much?"

"Because you're you, and you spoil me."

In the middle of the day, she might have been too self-conscious to have this rambling conversation, but considering it was past oh-one-hundred, Kathryn allowed herself. "Then I love you too."

Beverly drank most of her tea. It must have gone cold while she was working. "I had to bring in another starship."

"Oh?"

"Remember how I had sent the _Meimonides_ to track the freighter's course, to see if I could find out where the virus came from?"

Kathryn nodded, pulling herself up carefully to lean against the wall. If she remained lying down, she'd probably fall asleep mid-sentence.

"I thought the _Meimonides_ ] would be enough, but after they visited Gwalia Eight, we found out the freighter had a false flight plan. The _Meimonides_ doesn't have the long range tactical abilities necessary to track their ion trail."

"So you're just using every bit of your authority and calling ships in?"

Beverly rested her chin on her fist and sighed. "In a way."

"Should I talk to the virus and make it tell you where it came from and why it's so damn good at killing people?"

She shut her eyes then opened them quickly. "If only you could. We lost the fifth today. I put the rest in stasis. I don't know what we can do for them, and it almost seems cruel to leave them suspended between life and death--"

"You'll figure it out."

"You're biased."

"I'm supposed to be."

"Oh?"

"You need someone to remind you that you're absolutely brilliant and you'll solve this."

"I need to find the source. A carrier. A transmission vector. Something. Anything."

Kathryn buried a yawn in her hand. "Beverly."

"I'll find it."

"You'll find it."

Kathryn raised her hand to the viewer, wishing she could hold Beverly's cheek and make her believe it would be all right. "What time is it there? Three? Four?"

Beverly had to look, and she winced when she found it on the screen. "Just after four."

"Are you sleeping at all?"

"People are dying." Beverly rubbed her eyes, forcing sleep away.

"They're in stasis."

"I lost five before I got them there."

"You'll save the last six. I believe in you."

"Is that your way of saying I should go to bed?"

"Might be easier for you to beat this damn virus if you'd slept." Kathryn traced her hand across the screen. "Doesn't this argument usually go the other way? What would you tell me if I didn't want to stop working?"

"That I love you, and that's why I want you to sleep. So you can be the admiral tomorrow, when you're you again."

"Beverly-"

"Be the doctor tomorrow?"

"When you're you." Kathryn displaced the cat on her lap when she moved closer to the viewer. He glared at her and stalked off. "Take care of yourself. I can't have you all worn out when you come home."

Even exhausted, Beverly giggled. "You're incorrigible."

"I love you."

"I love you too. Be nice to the maestro. He does like you."

Kathryn looked sheepishly at the bed. Cat hair had started to blend in with the blankets. "He's been sleeping on your side of the bed."

Beverly's exhaustion faded behind her amusement. "You didn't-"

"Punish me when you get back." Kathryn feigned a stern look. "Now, go to bed."

"Yes dear."

For a moment Beverly watched her, silently taking Kathryn in. "Good night."

Kissing her fingertips before she turned them to the screen, Kathryn resigned herself to a few more weeks with the cat. "Good night."

The blue and white symbol of the Federation hung on her screen for a moment before vanishing. In the darkness, her bedroom was bigger and emptier than before. Sliding back down beneath her blankets, she curled towards Beverly's side of the bed. The big empty bed reminded her of _Voyager_ and seven long years of sleeping alone. Beverly's pillow had ceased to smell like her, but clutching that to her chest made it easier to sleep.  


* * *

Her fourth cup of coffee started a caffeine headache between her eyes. Kathryn pushed it out of her mind. It would fade after the fifth cup of coffee and if it came back before bed, she'd deal with it then. Her aide, Hjel, set a stack of PADDs on her desk. "There's a level seven ion storm in sector six-two-four. The _Titan_ has been reassigned to Starfleet Medical. The Hshuul-vor-ret reports are due by the end of the day. Admiral Grwllk wants to see you before lunch."

The ion storm was the least important piece of news, but for some reason it stuck in Kathryn's mind. She reached for the top PADD, lifting it up and scrolling through the first paragraph. Ion storms were occasionally dangerous to smaller vessels, but most starships were tough enough to withstand one. Shields could defend against most ion storms. She read through it twice, staring at it until the star map clicked in her head.

"The ion storm's path will intersect with Deep Space Five."

Hjel nodded. "It does seem likely." She arranged Kathryn's PADDs on her desk, taking the one about the ion storm. "A level seven storm poses no real threat to a space station, especially not one as big as Deep Space Five." She smiled shyly. "Doctor Crusher will be safe, Admiral."

Kathryn frowned at her and waved her away. "Tell Admiral Grwllk that I'll be in his office at eleven."

"And you need more coffee."

"Don't I always?"  


* * *

 

Beverly woke in a sea of light. It was thirteen hundred, much later than she'd ever intended to sleep. Outside her window, an ion storm raged against the shields, flashing red and purple light against the protective bubble. Groaning and reaching for her commbadge, she glanced at the blank viewer where she'd seen Kathryn before she went to sleep. As much as she missed her, she had work to do. Heading for the sonic shower, Beverly dragged her uniform with her. The shower turned on for a moment, then sputtered out. Beverly glared at the shower, then pulled on her rumpled uniform. She hadn't noticed the emergency lighting in her quarters, not with all the light from the storm raging outside.

She tapped her commbadge. "Crusher to OPS. What's going on up there?"

"Our friendly little level seven ion storm turned into a level nine when it passed the stellar cluster nearby."

She didn't recognise the voice but it had to be a junior officer. "Is the entire station on emergency power?"

"All spare power has been diverted to the shields."

A knot of ice settled into Beverly's stomach and began to creep upwards towards her chest.

"Even the privileged reserve?"

The voice on the other end of her commbadge paused. "Admiral Jellico ordered all power be diverted to the shields."

Once out of her quarters, Beverly began to jog down the promenade. He wouldn't have. The Admiral wouldn't have made that mistake, not when he knew the kind of virus he had down in his infirmary. Maybe he hadn't been the one to transfer power, if it was a junior officer, a lieutenant, they might not have known not to take the privileged reserve that ran the infirmary quarantine fields, and the stasis fields.

The corridors were empty. Everyone was in their quarters: in sheltered areas, protected, running on minimal life support, poorly recycled air. She didn't want to follow the thought to its logical conclusion. Beverly didn't want to face the idea that the virus that eluded her and four other doctors was running lose. That virus had burned through the immune systems of healthy Klingons as if they'd been cultures on a petri dish. What would it do to humans? Children?

She was short of breath when she rounded the corner into the infirmary. The lights were on emergency settings, from the busy casualty area where the injuries from the storm, Doctor V'Konna looked up in surprise.

"None of these are emergency cases, Doctor. Your assistance is welcome, but not necessary"

"The quarantine field." Beverly panted, jogging past the injured. "When they transferred power, it the stasis fields were disrupted, even momentarily--"

Vulcans did not panic and Beverly had spent most of her career learning to distance her emotions, but the thought of a deadly virus loose on a space station of thousands wrapped cold fingers around her heart. In the rear of the intensive care unit, all of the stasis patients lay beneath their protective fields. Two nurses looked up, surprised by her sudden appearance.

"Are they still in stasis?"

"Of course, Doctor."

"And the infirmary quarantine fields?"

"They were shut down briefly, but the stasis fields were in place. There's no need for concern."

Did they think she was overreacting? Beverly didn't care if she was. They hadn't seen the autopsies she had. The way the internal organs of the first victims had been pulped, nearly liquefied, as if they'd been thrown against a bulkhead.

"Have you checked them all?"

"Doctor, they're in stasis. They're fine."

Beverly glanced at the first set of life-sign indicators. They hovered just above comatose, just as they had been before she'd put the second officer in stasis. The engineer was the same way, on the line between life and death. The next two were even worse, but still alive, and held that way. She had been paranoid: that was all it was.

The fifth displays was as it had been, all the indicators low, but static. For the sake of completeness, she checked the final patient. The helmsman, he'd been the worst off when she placed them in stasis; possibly he'd been exposed to more of the virus. His life indicators were still as well, all of them low but--

He'd had a heartbeat before. Beverly remembered checking it before she'd set the field. He'd been alive, if by a dagger's edge. The stasis field still held him, unchanging, but now he was dead. When she didn't move on, both nurses stopped behind her, and after a moment, they saw what she saw.

"He was alive--" The young man took a step closer, about to touch the body.

Beverly grabbed his arm, hard. "Quarantine fields might not be at full strength. Dropping the stasis field could expose all of us the virus." She only had a moment to think. The virus had to be contained. There were hundreds of lives at stake, maybe thousands.

Hitting her commbadge, she asked for OPS.

That same inexperienced voice from before answered her. "Yes, Doctor?"

"I need six bodies beamed from the quarantine area of the infirmary to the morgue."

"We're on emergency power--"

"This is not a request. This is a medical emergency. Six bodies from stasis to the morgue." She paused, she so rarely had to use her sternest voice. " _Now_."

"I'll get the admiral."

For a fleeting moment, Beverly thought of her admiral, of Kathryn, and how she was going to explain if she--

She couldn't think that.

"Doctor," Admiral Jellico's tone was brusque and frustrated. "I can't allocate power to the transporters--"

"With all due respect, Admiral, if you don't allocate power to the transporters, right now, six level five quarantine patients are going to expose the entire deck to the deadliest virus I've treated in the last thirty years I've been a doctor. I don't care if we lose a pylon, if we don't move these patients we're going to lose everyone on board."

"I shouldn't have to remind you, Doctor, that exaggeration is not something I--"

"Admiral, if you don't beam these patients into the morgue immediately, you might as well drop the shields because being destroyed by the ion storm will be preferable to dying of this disease." The bitterness in her voice accomplished what being firm had not.

"I'll see to the transporters, Doctor."

The tightness of Beverly's throat faded slightly. "Thank you, Admiral."

The two nurses behind her watched as the six Klingons she'd been trying to save were transported into the morgue and to their deaths. They were comatose, and all on the verge of death. Dying in the morgue or the infirmary would make no difference to them. She had to make sure no one else was infected. That had to be their first priority.

She took a single moment to compose herself, then gave her orders. "We need to scan everyone who may have possibly come in contact with anyone who entered or left he quarantine zone. We have no data on the early stages of the disease, or how long it takes to replicate."

The two nurses looked at each other. Most likely thinking that she was overreacting. That was her job.

"Both of you, grab a tricorder, start with each other and be very thorough. This virus is not something we can afford to give any leeway." Beverly stiffened, preparing herself for what she had to do. Sometimes she envied Kathryn for being more removed. Things looked so different on the bridge. "I'll be in the morgue."  


* * *

 

Pacing would have been suspicious, so Kathryn stood still in front of the window as if she was held by a forcefield. She'd forgotten her coffee and it grew cold on the table behind her. Kathryn Janeway forgetting a cup of coffee was about as rare as Admiral Ross forgetting to sign one of his reports. It was something that didn't happen. Not if the Borg were threatening Earth, not if the Romulans were offering to join the Federation: Kathryn drank her coffee.

Taking her tea with her to the window, Alynna Nechayev studied the perfect, almost painful, angle of Kathryn's spine. Stress looked like that, so did fear, and loss. Deep Space Five had been out of contact due to the ion storm for the last seventeen hours, and though that wasn't much time, it had to be an eternity if someone you loved was on that station.

Kathryn's relationship with Doctor Crusher was hardly a secret. She'd seen them together at several events and gossip tended to travel at warp speed. It was nice, knowing the admirals around her were happy. Alynna had long ago given up the idea of a lasting relationship with anyone but Starfleet, not that she was lonely, or lacked company when she wanted it.

She knew what it was to face that kind of loss. Alynna had seen it enough to know what it looked like. Dealing with it was another matter, one of some delicacy.

"I've been in an ion storm a few times, mostly small ones of course, but once, on the _Asimov_ back when I was younger than anyone would ever believe I've been, we ran into a level seven."

Kathryn's expression didn't change, but Alynna knew she was trying to place the ship. The _Asimov_ was from far enough before Kathryn's time, even as an ensign, that she doubted she'd know.

"Ambassador class," Alynna answered for her. "Nothing as advanced as your _Voyager_. We had to stretch our shields to the limit and pray that they'd hold. I remember listening to the bulkheads shudder and the imagining the shields cracking."

"And the fact that you're here, filling my head with terrible images, should make me feel better?" The bitter remark came with a hint of emotion. That was a good sign.

Alynna sipped her tea and kept her eyes on the dark grounds of Starfleet Headquarters outside. "You being angry with me might make you feel something else. Better might be overreaching."

Kathryn unfolded her arms stiffly. She'd had them like that for awhile. "I'm sure everything's fine."

"So am I."

"I'm not good at waiting." Kathryn's voice was soft enough to be a hiss.

"Worst part of making captain. Having to wait on the bridge while everyone else beamed down."

"You didn't beam down?"

Alynna raised her eyebrows, feigning innocence. "Against protocol? The captain should stay with the ship. I, of course, stayed with my ship. Just as much as you did."

That finally drew a partial smile from Kathryn. "I should read your service record."

"I'd have to unlock the file first."

Kathryn picked up her cold coffee, sniffed it and winced. Setting the cup in the replicator, she asked for a fresh one. "Sealing our own records is strongly frowned upon."

"By us."

Fresh coffee in hand, Kathryn shook her head in mock disbelief. "We are a bunch of stiff-shirted hypocrites, aren't we?"

Alynna took her chair and sat primly as the rest of the meeting filed in. "I spend all morning starching my uniform, don't you?"

The softening of Kathryn's posture as she leaned back in her chair was as much of a victory as Alynna expected. "I've been having my aide do it."

Speaking behind her cup, Alynna muttered under her breath as Fleet Admiral T'Ana began the meeting. "Rookie mistake."  


* * *

The last member of the crew of the _SuHn'Nos_ died in the morgue with Beverly standing over her. It wasn't a pleasant death, and the cold darkness of unconsciousness was a blessing. The final racking spasm that demonstrated the collapse of the patient's eight chambered heart left Beverly standing in a room full of corpses.

Her skintight bioisolation suit insulated her from sharing any of the air with the infected. Inside Beverly's breathing mask, her eyes were dry and her task was clear. Follow the pattern of destruction through the body, understand how the virus got in, what it wanted, and why it manifested the way it did. Understand the virus and she'd know how to stop it. Every plague had an answer. No matter how this one seemed, it was no different.

Leaving the recently dead, she returned to the body she had open, that of the weapons officer. No matter how small a Klingon ship was, there was always a weapons officer. This one had died of pneumonia. His lungs had filled with a clear, virus-loaded fluid. With every gasping breath, he'd been spreading the virus. It was brutally efficient. Beverly knew that a virus had no personality or intellect, but this one was smart.

She set down the lung tissue, letting the computer determine how long the virus had been at work in alveoli, and turned her attention to the purplish mess that had once been a healthy kidney. The organ was easily the most damaged, which was like choosing a Ferengi from a group as the most greedy. All the organs were damaged, but the kidneys, all of them were pulped. They'd been nearly liquified as the virus destroyed the vital cells inside. As each cell burst, more of the virus had swarmed out, attacking the cells around it until all that was left was the goo coating her gloved fingers.

Why the kidneys? From what she could tell, the virus was inhaled, not ingested or transmitted by touch. It made sense to manifest in the lungs, yet they seemed to be one of the last things the virus attacked. Travelling from the lungs to the kidneys, only to return to the lungs made no sense. At least, not now, not when she hadn't worked out the mystery.

She checked the stomach, the intestines and the livers, searching with her hands because the main computer was still offline. She had lights and her tricorder but no medical database, or deep tissue scanning equipment. Her Nana would have called it fighting a fever in a thunderstorm. Beverly remembered the sound of the rain on the roof when she was a little girl and thought of it now, while the ion storm raged around them.

Kathryn hated rain. What was she doing? What time was it in San Francisco? Had she fed the maestro? Beverly doubted Da Vinci would allow Kathryn to let him go unfed for more than an hour. He'd keep her busy, and that was good. Kathryn couldn't worry much if she was busy.

Drying her gloves and reaching for her tricorder, Beverly caught sight of the chronometer and stopped short. She'd been in the morgue for over seven hours. The aches and complaints of her body were something she was accustomed to putting aside when she had work to do. The suit itched, and she was thirsty but she'd been wearing it for seven hours and not taken a break for the toilet. She hadn't urinated.

She'd had water an hour ago, and two cups of coffee during her last break. What else had she drank? Tea? There was always tea. Even as Beverly raced through all the reasons why she might not have a full bladder, she knew in that dark place in her gut that something was wrong. Turning the tricorder on herself, she watched the indicators for her kidneys fall into the red. They were already starting to fail, and if she'd been exposed when she'd woken up, that meant it had only taken seven hours.

Seven hours ago she was perfectly healthy and now her kidneys were barely functioning enough for a reading on the tricorder. She had to go, find the other nurses and quarantine them.

Stepping into the decontamination field still wearing her suit, Beverly ignored her uniform. Even if she quarantined all three of them now, everyone they'd come in contact with could have been exposed. There could be hundreds of patients and she did none of them any good if she was careless. What the quarantine suit could keep out, it could also keep in. Her suit might have become her tomb.


	5. Chapter 5

"It appears to be a canopic jar." Commander Tuvok reported over the comm system in his EVA suit. "This one is broken, perhaps that is why it was left behind when the Klingon freighter pilfered this tomb. The residue on the fragments has recently dried. Within the last few weeks, unlike the other jar, which has been dry long enough for the tissue that was once inside to become dust. It will not be possible to procure DNA from this jar, though the first should prove useful."

Doctor Ree, uncomfortable in his specially designed EVA suit for his reptilian form, clicked his jaws before he replied. "A virus that could survive for thousands of years inside a canopic jar would have to be very stable in atmosphere."

"Unless the jars were hermetically sealed."

Ree's growl made Deanna smile. "Commander, they'd need to be perfect for a virus to survive that long."

"Gentleman," she ended the debate. "Collect your jars, beam them up to the science lab under maximum quarantine protocols and get started on your analysis. The ion storm will be past Deep Space Five in three hours. I'd like to have something to tell Doctor Crusher by then. "

"Yes, Commander."

Tuvok and Ree got to work collecting every spare shard of the two broken canopic jars and sealing them away in stasis chambers.

The tomb had been beautiful once. The walls still held traces of paint, and had once held great murals. The science officer, Jaza, had collected as much data as he could and had been talking about reconstructing them. This tomb held some meaning. It was alone in this part of the forest, and though the city was nearby, it had lain undisturbed for centuries while life continued around it. The inhabitants of Krikklthn had little interest in who came before, they were an artistic race who preferred painting the tomb to robbing it.

The paintings available in the street when the away team had arrived, depicting the Klingons taking several jars and a great many treasures out of the tomb were a dead giveaway. Rather than stop them, the Krikklthn had captured them indelibly as art. Which made the _Titan's_ job that much easier. Will had joked that sending one of the paintings would work as his report.

"Troi to _Titan_."

"Yes Commander?" Will's voice was calm, but she could feel the amusement behind it. He was excited to see Beverly, even if it was under less than idea circumstances.

"Tuvok and Ree have found what appear to be canopic jars, two of them with dry organic material. They're bringing them up to the lab. Jaza is focused on figuring out who was buried here, and why. When he's completed his scans of the exterior, we will return aboard."

"Be back for dinner, dear."

Deanna smiled inside her confining suit and tramped through the grass until she found Jaza. The slim Bajoran was staring at a section of text that had survived better than the rest of the wall. Translating it with his tricorder, he looked up.

"It says "here is sealed the white-eyed-death. Let it never be running--" He frowned. "I think the translation is "don't let it out." Hopefully."

"We have the language?" Nothing about the tomb looked at all familiar to anyone. The fact that they knew some of the language was a surprise.

"Actually, it seems to be several languages. A few of which we know. This-" Jaza pointed to a thick, blocky set of engravings, "is ancient Tellarite. One of the oldest dialects we have on record. And here-" He rested his gloved hand on a more delicate, square-based script. "This is some kind of Vulcan. It may even be before the Vulcan-Romulan split. This is Bajoran, very very old, but I think a few vedics still speak it. It's pretty faded but…as far as I can tell, it's all warnings. At least six different languages, and all of them are warnings of death and white eyes."

"White eyes?"

Jaza shrugged, a motion lost inside his suit, but Deanna knew the mental sensation. "White eyes of death? White eyes seeing death? White-death-eyes? We can translate some of these, how well we can translate them is another matter entirely."

"Tuvok might be able to help you with the Vulcan."

Jaza frowned at the stone wall of the tomb in front of him, then glanced at his tricorder. "You know what's really strange about this, Commander?"

"A tomb in the middle of nowhere that has six different warnings on it that a ship full of Klingons thought was worth robbing and you've just now found something strange?"

"I'm not a historian, but most of these languages are from before any of the races on here are from a point in history when none of them got along. I can see trying to keep your allies away from the tomb of your dead, but your enemies?" Jaza rested his hand against the stone, tracing the ancient symbols. "What's bad enough that you want to warn your enemies away?"  


* * *

"Tuvok and Ree have everything down in the medical lab. Jaza said something about the holodeck. He wanted to try and recreate the tomb as it would have been."

Will settled into his chair on the other side of desk. His ready room was far less formal than Picard's. He kept his trombone there, and he even practised occasionally. His command style, however informal, suited him and he was happy with the _Titan_. Having Deanna on board as his wife was the part that completed his life.

"What do you think it is?"

Deanna picked up a crystal sculpture and toyed with it in her hands. It was a gift from her mother, and as delicate as it looked, it was nearly impervious to damage. Which made it a practical gift for a starship captain. "What would you seal up in a tomb, and warn even your enemies not to touch?"

"My trombone." He smiled, and she couldn't help returning it.

"Well yes, but I doubt even that would need to marked as the eyes-white-death." Deanna set down the sculpture and reached across the table for Will's hand. "Do you think Beverly's all right?"

He squeezed her fingers, holding them securely. "She's gotten out of worse."

"Still no contact with Deep Space Five?" Even as they flew towards the station at warp eight, it was still hours away, and if the storm still raged when they got there, they'd have to wait out of range until the storm dissipated.

"This particular ion storm has a bad temper." Will rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "Jellico might be a match for it."

Jellico's short captaincy of the _Enterprise_ had left both of them with a grudging respect for the man and his abilities. Deanna had shared the crew's palpable sense of relief when Picard returned to his ship and crew. Picard was a very paternal captain, someone who led by example. Will's style was more relaxed, he was an older brother who could be counted on to know best while still finding time to connect with his crew.

"Have you heard from Beverly recently?"

"She's been busy."

"Busy with Admiral Janeway." Will's mind shifted from a profession state to a more friendly one. He liked teasing Beverly about her new relationship, and the more serious it became, the more he enjoyed it. "Worf thinks she'll be getting married soon."

"Married?" Deanna raised her eyebrows. She needed to make time to listen to Worf's latest letter. "Captain Picard hasn't said anything about it."

"He's too polite to gossip."

"So you're relying on Worf, a Klingon, because they're renowned for their gossip."

Will's self-satisfied smirk argued that he was doing exactly that. "Do you want to hear what Worf said or not?"

She pulled her hand back and folded them together in her lap. "Fine."

"When Beverly was on the _Enterprise_ last week, on her way to Deep Space Five, she admitted she had been thinking of marrying Admiral Janeway, and our friends on the _Enterprise_ thoroughly endorsed the idea."

"You were at the Academy with Kathryn Janeway-"

"She has great cheekbones."

"Will--"

"We went on a date or two, nothing serious. Someone broke her heart before she arrived and I looked too much like him."

"So that's why you grew the beard."

"Right, ten years later on the _Enterprise_ , I grew a beard for her. She made quite an impression." His eyes twinkled and Deanna let his love wash over her.

"She's intelligent, a very dedicated scientist-"

"Like Beverly."

"Right, I think they'd be a good match that way. Kathryn's sharp, strict, but fair. Great laugh, nice sense of humour, great-" Will's mind wandered to his impetuous youth and a few stray images brought a flush of heat to Deanna's stomach.

"Well, it only seems fair."

"Fair?"

"Beverly did have you once, when you lent your body to Ambassador Odan."

"If I remember right, you gave her permission."

Deanna stood, resting her hands on the table. Leaning across, she kissed him firmly. "Only because I knew you'd do anything to help a friend." Running her hand slowly though his hair, she kissed his forehead. "Not that I recall it being too much of an imposition."

"Will-the-thrill is happy to oblige. Though, I'm strictly a one-woman show now, you understand."

"She's the only one who will have you?"

Getting to his feet, Will circled the table and pulled her close. "The only one I'd want, Imzadi."  


* * *

"I have the _Titan_ for you, Admiral."

Kathryn's head shot up from the PADD she'd been reading. "Put them through."

Her aide, Hjel, nodded and retreated to her outer office.

Swivelling in her chair to face the comm screen, Kathryn allowed herself the hope that Captain Riker would have good news. It was possible that they'd found something useful. Something that Beverly could use.

"Captain Riker."

"Admiral Janeway." Will grinned a little. "This is a pleasure."

"Only if you have good news for me, Will."

"Right. Yes, ma'am."

He knew she'd wince at the ma'am and he did it anyway. True Riker style. Will sat back in his chair and picked up a PADD.

"We found what appears to be a tomb on Krikklthn. The inhabitants confirmed that the Klingon crew arrived twenty days ago, raided the tomb for two days and then left. The Krikklthni didn't have any interaction with the Klingons and do not seem to be showing any signs of illness."

"So it's not that airborne." Kathryn sighed in relief. She worried about Beverly working with that kind of virus. Even though she knew Beverly would be careful, technology was imperfect and situations occurred , then became incidents and incidents-- She wasn't even going to think that.

"The biofilters didn't detect anything on the exterior of any of the EVA suits. Tuvok collected two canopic jars. One with the seal broken thousands of years ago, but the other is recently broken because it was hermetically sealed, Tuvok and my CMO speculated that whatever was in the newly broken jar is the source of our contagion." He paused and smiled sheepishly. "Don't supposed you know anyone who speaks ancient Tellarite?"

Kathryn winced. "I can barely say 'good morning' in modern Tellarite without my translator."

"My crew's working on the tomb. I'm sending all our data so you and the other admirals can make sure we're not missing anything." Will paused, seeming to study her face. Kathryn had never played cards with him, but he had a reputation for being able to read people, and she was running short on emotional control. "Admiral, before I sign off, I thought you should know, the storm around Deep Space Five is dissipating, we might be able to make contact with them soon."

"Excellent." Kathryn tore her eyes away from his face and made herself look down at her PADD. Due to their proximity, the _Titan_ would be the first to re-establish contact with Deep Space Five. Beverly was fine. The station was intact. She had to stay positive.

"Admiral?"

"Something else I can do for you, Will?"

"Beverly's a survivor. She always came home to the _Enterprise_ , and nearly always in one piece. Jean-Luc let her get banged up pretty badly once, on Minos, he still winces if you ask him about it, but she's been fine since then. Even beat the Borg on her own, with a skeleton crew." Either Beverly had much more contact with Will Riker than Kathryn knew, or he'd seen through her as easily as a Betazoid.

"If you tell me not to worry, I'll send the _Titan_ on a long-range survey mission to the Gruthdr sector."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Admiral." Will reached for the termination control, and paused, his piercing blue eyes cutting through her tattered defences. "Hang in there."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Riker out."

Kathryn set down the PADD and rubbed the back of her neck. Life was so much simpler when she wasn't emotionally involved with anyone. She had the bad habit of becoming so, and deeply, and every time she let her heart out for a little fresh air, something waltzed in and ripped it to shreds. Berating herself, Kathryn left her desk for a fresh cup of coffee. She was worried about nothing. Beverly was fine. She'd be home soon and all Kathryn really had to worry about was how and when she wanted to get married.

As if sensing her distress, even her replicator was sympathetic and her coffee was perfect. Did thinking about marriage count as focusing on the positive? Or was it simply another way to worry and dwell on what might go wrong between the moment Beverly had left and the time in the future, hopefully sooner rather than later, when Beverly would return. Being the one to wait was unfamiliar ground, and she a little unsettled. She was the one who went away.

It was foolish to be this unnerved. Beverly was fine. No matter how much she worried, Beverly was fine. She had to be. The universe was not that unfeeling.

Forcing herself back into her chair, Kathryn picked up the PADD she'd set aside and began to read the preliminary translation Tuvok had included. He'd had the most luck with the Vulcan, and though the dialect was obscure, Tuvok was capable.

"… heed and be wary, for herein lies those claimed (or owned) by the white-eyed death. What flesh remains (or is not lost) we leave so that others may find (possibly seek) the light (also fire, heat or sunstorm) and scorch their way free (or out, beyond or past) the end. If you are not seeking, pass this by and remain one being (most likely idiomatic, meaning healthy or whole)."

Her coffee went bitter on her tongue. Beverly had said something about cataracts, hadn't she? Something about the dying Klingons being beyond the ability to see where they were? Calling up Beverly letters since her departure, Kathryn drummed her fingers nervously.

"Computer, find all references to 'cataracts' in my personal correspondence with Doctor Crusher."

"Working." The computer went silence, then two stardates appeared on the screen. "There are two references to cataracts."

"Play the first letter. Time index fifteen-twenty-four."

Beverly's smiling face filled the screen and Kathryn's stomach calmed. She was still on the _Enterprise_ , the taletale starlines from travelling at warp were behind her.

"I've been reading the medical database, trying to find anything that effects the kidneys and lungs while simultaneously causing cataracts that cover the entire eye. Even with the _Enterprise's_ computer, it's like sifting through the a haystack looking for one specific piece of straw. I found a fever on Alessiss Three that attacks the lungs and the moves to the kidneys, and a flagellate parasite that enters through the eyes and causes kidney failure in the later stages."

Beverly sighed and rested her chin on her hand. "Tell me about the flowers again. I've been trying to imagine what they smell like."

"Computer stop." Hating to interrupt Beverly, Kathryn knew she had to or she'd listen to the rest of the message, and all of the one after that.

"Play the second instance. Time index three-one-eight."

This one was one of the last letters Kathryn had received before she'd lost contact. Beverly's smile was weaker and the smudged circles beneath her eyes were much more pronounced.

"I've been trying to wrap my head around why this virus attacks the eyes. It's possible that the cataracts are a means of keeping the infected still, but that doesn't make sense. A virus needs to be spread around. It wouldn't want to stay in one place. It could be a side effect, something that didn't evolve naturally but I can't say that's true unless I can nail down the pathology."

She stopped pacing in front of the comm screen and leaned against the desk. "I can't sleep. I know you'd tell me I need to, but the bed seems huge and empty and I don't know how to stop my mind. It keeps racing and I- I think I'm trying to say I miss you." Sighing and lowering her eyes to the floor, Beverly took a deep breath. "I miss you a lot."

"Stop." Kathryn turned away, taking a deep breath of her own and forcing the stinging urge to cry down into her stomach. "Computer stop."

Beverly hung on the screen for a moment, paused with a desperate look of longing on her face. Kathryn reached towards the screen, letting her fingers stroke the air in front of it.

"I miss you too."  


* * *

"Level fifteen gets ventilation from level fourteen, and the infirmary vents into the cargo bays on level fourteen. It's a safeguard. If something goes wrong, air from the infirmary gets recycled with lesser populated areas." Admiral Jellico's engineer, a tall, reedy Andorian, let his antennae droop in dismay. "We tried to save power and evacuated everyone from the lower decks. The bulk of the population weathered the storm in decks fifteen through twenty. Right where we dumped the air from the infirmary."

V'Konna spoke next. The signs of sleeplessness etched green and yellow on her skin. Even Vulcans had limits to their endurance and Beverly couldn't say the last time she had slept. "We are still not able to detect the virus in the early stages. Kidney failure is the first sign of the disease. It is characterised by thirst, lack of appetite and a cessation of urine production."

Admiral Jellico looked from his CMO to Beverly and ended with his exhausted gaze on the head of Starfleet Medical. "What are we talking about here? A few hundred?"

Picking up the PADD was unnecessary; Beverly had it memorised. "Sixteen hundred people are showing signs of kidney damage. Over half are already approaching kidney failure. It's impossible to tell who else might be in the initial stages of infection, but there are so many people moving around the station that it could be as high as-"

"Three thousand?" Jellico interrupted her, picking up the same data Beverly had in front of her and staring at it. "Four?"

"How many people are on this station?"

The senior staff shared horrified glances. Beverly's stomach was ice and crackling from the strain.

One of Jellico's aides piped up. "Eleven thousand, six hundred eighty-two, before the storm hit."

When Jellico opened his mouth, Beverly steered the conversation before he could begin to protest. "This virus is exceptional virulent. It has an airborne transmission vector and it lasts almost forty hours in the air and on surfaces. Once the repair crews were exposed and started moving through the station, we were facing a full infection scenario. Each one of us, and every other person on this station has been exposed to the deadliest pathogen I've ever seen."

She rested her hands on the table, palms flat on the glass when she looked to the admiral. "Full quarantine. Level five. No one and nothing transports on or off of this station. No ship gets within a thousand kilometres. If we can't find a cure here, this station will need to be neutralised."

"You're talking about destroying this station, Doctor." Jellico's tone was razor sharp.

Beverly's own voice was dull and every word immutable. There was no argument; no room for debate. Unless they found a cure, Deep Space Five was a tomb and they would all die in it.

"I'm talking about saving the rest of the galaxy from a disease that could wipe out all sentient life. This virus infects Vulcans, Andorians, Bajorans, Cardassians, Klingons-- Klingon's have one of the most powerful immune systems in the Alpha quadrant and this virus turned their internal organs into jelly. It took nearly a week for the freighter crew to die. Humans aren't going to last that long."

"Doctor?" One of the aides asked. The young one who looked a few months out of the Academy.

Beverly hissed the answer towards Jellico. "Days."

"I anticipate four days from the initial infection to complete organ failure." V'Konna was serenely more specific. "Other species will have different survival rates. It is possible that the virus may mutate and some of the crew may survive."

"But not probable." The Andorian engineer knew how to read between the bounds of logic. "Is there anything we can do to slow it down?"

"Drink water, even when you're not thirsty." Beverly had been forcing herself to for the last twelve hours. Her fingers were starting to swell, and her boots were tight in the ankles. Water retention was an extremely negative sign; so were the headaches and the vague, disembodied sense of nausea. Oddly, there was no fever, as if her body had not yet summoned that vital defence. Maybe it knew something she didn't.

"We are supplying emergency field dialysis units to the medical personal and vital station operations staff." V'Konna offered. "They may be able to increase kidney function temporarily, protecting from further deterioration."

"The industrial replicators can be used to fabricate more."

Jellico lifted the repair list then set it down, shaking his head. "I suppose none of this matters if no one lives to use the station. Dedicate whatever resources the medical needs first, even if it means we stay on emergency rations for awhile. It doesn't sound like any of us will be eating much."

"Yes, Admiral."

Beverly's mind clicked into autopilot, burying her emotions down in the bottom of her heart next to any hope she had left. "I'd also like to start assembling everyone in smaller areas, like the main promenade. The medical staff aren't going to be much healthier than the patients we're treating. It'll be easier on everyone if they're all in the same place."

"I'll have my crew start setting up cots on the promenade."

"Thank you, Admiral."

The rest of Jellico's staff filed out while Beverly stared down at her hands on the table. The flesh between her knuckles was slightly puffy, and she wriggled her fingers slowly, half-frightened they wouldn't work.

"Doctor, I'd like you to know the situation isn't your fault."

Looking up in surprise, Beverly met Jellico's eyes as he walked towards her. "Admiral?"

"No one blames you for trying to save the crew of the _SuHn'Nos_."

Staring at him didn't make his words any more logical. Was he forgiving her? Giving her his absolution for the situation they all faced? Biting her tongue before she snapped at him, Beverly straightened up, ignoring the funny twinge of her lower back. It would be easier to accept his forgiveness, however clumsy, and return to the infirmary. What little time she had was too precious to be wasted arguing with Jellico.

"Thank you, Admiral. I appreciate that."

Fidgeting with a PADD, Jellico spoke again after a moment. "I've started writing my wife and son. I don't really know what to say, but it seems--"

"I wouldn't give up just yet." Him she could lie to. Beverly would never be able to lie to Kathryn and she was dreaded the return of communications.

"Have you written anyone?"

Was Jellico trying to connect with her? Empathise? He really did think he was dying.

"No."

Would she find time to write Wesley? Would he understand if his mother disappeared without a word, just as his father had? How long would it be before anyone found him on the physical plane to tell him she was dead? And Kathryn…

Beverly's heart sank in the direction of the deck and remained there. How could she abandon both of them? How could she say good bye? Surely there was something, somewhere, an answer she just hadn't found yet.

"I'm afraid I can't allow myself the time." She turned away from Jellico, breaking the lock between their eyes before she gave anything away. "I'll contact you if I find anything, Admiral."   


* * *

There are no references to 'white-eyed death' in the main historical database."

Kathryn drummed her fingers on the desk impatiently while the computer concluded.

"There are eight hundred sixty-three references to 'white-eyed death' in the historical database of folklore. If semantic variations are included, there are thirteen thousand two hundred forty-seven references in the collected folklore of all Federation species."

Now her head hurt. It was too much to search through, even if she employed all the cadets she could steal from their other assignments. Kathryn didn't know where to start. Searching through vast amounts of largely irrelevant data was not something she had much patience for or any skill at.

She needed help. Someone who excelled at efficiency when efficiency seemed impossible.

"Computer, where is Seven of- Annika Hansen?"

"Annika Hansen is currently assigned to the Starfleet Security Borg Task force. She is reside in Kumina, Sweden."

Seven was unaffected by the transfers between light and dark that came with living in Europe and working primarily on the west coast of North America. Kathryn wasn't sure she could have done it. She preferred starships, where time was a constant and each ship had its own bubble of time. Though, even on a starship, Kathryn knew she might be feel just as useless as she now did.

"Try to raise Annika Hansen on the comm system."

The computer beeped obediently and made the attempt while Kathryn tried to decide what she intended to say. Seven wouldn't mind the puzzle, she might even be intrigued by the idea that someone, thousands of years ago, had thought it prudent to save infected organs for someone else to find, even though everything they'd been able to translate so far was a warning. Had they stumbled onto an emergency store? Someone's idea of a biological repository?

"Admiral Janeway." Seven's polite expression had replaced the Starfleet symbol on her computer screen. "You are distracted."

Kathryn smiled, wondering how long Seven had waited for her to speak. "Hello Seven. How are you?"

"I am well, thank you. You appear less so."

However awkwardly expressed, Seven's concern was touching and the knot in Kathryn's stomach released slightly. She'd needed Seven for more than her mental capacity.

"I need your assistance with a puzzle."

Seven tilted her head slightly to the side, curious. "You are adept at solving most mental exercises to a reasonable degree of satisfaction, Admiral."

Smiling weakly at the compliment, Kathryn settled back in her chair. "I'm afraid this one requires more than a reasonable degree. Two weeks ago, a Klingon freighter raided a tomb on Krikklthn. They appear to have taken several canopic jars, and broke one in their less than graceful exit. When they arrived at Deep Space Five, they were all dying of a incredible virulent disease."

"Do you require assistance with the pathology of the virus?"

"The tomb was marked in several different languages, Ancient dialects of Bajoran, Vulcan, Tellarite… from what we've been able to translate, the markings are all warnings. I need to know what race would have known eight different races thousands of years ago."

"I am available to assist you. I will proceed to the transport hub and arrive in San Francisco at nineteen-hundred hours."

"That's the middle of the night--"

"My sleeping habits are not your concern, though-" Seven paused, remembering something. "I appreciate your emotional tendency to worry on my behalf."

"Seven-" Kathryn's mouth went dry. "You have to, I- Doctor Crusher is on Deep Space Five. We've lost contact with the station due to an ion storm."

"I will endeavour to arrive more quickly."

"You don't--"

"Doctor Crusher is important to you." Which made her important to Seven. "Irene Hansen will understand my absence is necessary."

"Thank you, Seven."

"I believe the correct response is to admonish you not to worry and remind you that Doctor Crusher is more than capable of fulfilling her duties, even under duress."

Kathryn leaned closer to the screen, resting her hands on her upper arms and her elbows on the desk. "She is a very talented doctor."

"And you have an emotional attachment to her."

The hundred responses Kathryn could have made faded behind the bluntest of them. "I love her."

Seven nodded once: an elegant tilt of her head. "I will arrive within the hour, Admiral." Seven terminated the connection, returning Kathryn's screen to the familiar insignia of Starfleet Command. The thought of Seven's arrival cheered her, even chased away a little of her guilt from removing Seven from her aunt's home. Seven didn't seem to mind; she did enjoy mysteries.

Kathryn tried again to tell herself nothing was wrong. Ships and stations lost contact, ion storms happened and viruses broke out of the darkness to cause death and destruction. The universe was an uncertain, often nasty place. Even when she wanted to hide away from it, and take Beverly with her, that uncertainty was out there, waiting like a crouching spider.

She hated spiders. When she was a little girl, she'd dodged spiders and old cobwebs in the barns around her family home. Even though her father told her that spiders were harmless and more afraid of her than she was of them, Kathryn still hated the sight of them. They lurked. She rarely saw one at work on a web. They just lurked, waiting for something hapless to blunder in to be eaten.

Pushing herself out of her chair, she ordered fresh coffee from the replicator and clung to the mug as she stared out her window. Cadets hurried and older officers walked more purposefully across the grounds. Perhaps her newly discovered paranoia came from this being the first time she'd waited for someone she loved to come back since her father had left her as a child. Mark never went off-world anywhere remotely dangerous, if he went at all, and she'd been with Justin. Maybe she was just becoming sentimental. She was certainly more sensitive. Beverly's absence still stung, and instead of calming down and rationalising her fears, Kathryn was more on edge.

Level nine ion storms were rare. Viruses as virulent as the one Beverly was studying were even more so, yet for some reason Kathryn had both to worry about. Worst of all, she couldn't do anything. She could sort through the _Titan's_ data and try to convince her that it was helping; being honest with herself suggested it was busy work. She had potential trade routes to study and extensive economic data on the new first contacts from sector nine-nine-two.

Something insisted those could wait. She needed to figure out this tomb. Why was it there? Who built it? Why save medically 'hot' material for someone to stumble onto? Rubbing her temples, she returned to her desk, called up the _Titan's_ scans of the mysterious tomb and forgot all about trade routes. There was an answer here, her gut promised it was important, and Kathryn knew the benefits of listening to her gut. More importantly, she knew the dreadful consequences of ignoring it.


	6. Chapter 6

Rubbing the crease in her forehead just above her nose that seemed to have developed over the course of a long, sleepless night, Beverly frowned at the computer screen in front of her. She'd been breaking down the protein coat of the damn SuHn'Nos virus since she'd left the last briefing. Doctor V'Konna knew the station better than she did, so the CMO was handling the infected. Beverly had distanced herself as much as she could because she needed to focus. The other medical staff could handle palliative care, which was all they currently had to offer the infected. She was here to stop the virus, so that was where she'd poured her energy.

Standing up, she straightened against the crick in her back. The portable dialysis unit hummed as it worked, and with her eyes pried away from what she was doing, she noticed the sound again. It was a small, innocuous looking grey metal device, and though it weighed little, it made her feel unbalanced stuck where it was on her lower back. In twelve hours she'd move it to the other side and let it re-establish a connection with her bloodstream. It wasn't as efficient as her own kidneys, not even as much so as a more permanent synthetic replacement. Her fingers were still puffy and swollen with water retention and her complete lack of appetite was from the disease, not any focus she employed on her work.

Her eyes hurt, which was unsurprising considering how much she'd been demanding of them. What worried Beverly was that her computer terminal was steading becoming harder to read. She'd been squinting, and that was why her forehead felt stiff and crumpled. There was nothing wrong with her eyesight. She'd worked longer hours before without a problem.

Maybe she tired, or older than she'd been the last time she'd faced a crisis. Perhaps the pressure her failing kidneys were putting on her body was starting to effect her eyes. Leaving the research lab that she'd made her office since she arrived, Beverly slipped through the crowded infirmary. She had to step carefully to avoid the infected on the floor, and the staff flitting around them. The little lab with the ocular equipment was quiet, most likely because it was too small to be used as bed space. Sitting down in front of the ocular scanner, she ran a full series on herself.

With the storm past, and only the residual ionisation left to interfere with communications, main power was restored and no fight with the computer was necessary. Beverly stared into the white lights, trying not to blink as the scanning light began to blur, and her eyes teared up in protest.

"Scan complete." The computer reported, blithely unaware of the growing pit in the bottom of Beverly's stomach. Dragging herself slowly up, Beverly leaned on the wall as the three dimensional scan of her eyes appeared in front of her.

The blood vessels in her retina were healthy, and the sludgy blood flow from her kidneys that the virus was slowly turning into jelly, hadn't yet affected them. The problem was in her lenses.

"Computer, magnify grid four-D and enhance."

Her left lens blew up to fill the entire screen. What had been white scratches, like lint on the computer display, were wispy, like white clouds across her lens. The right eye was arguably worse than the left, and five hours ago, when she'd run the first pessimistic scan, both of her eyes had been unaffected.

"Compare recent cataract development to previous scan."

"Recent cataract development now covers twelve-point-one percent of the lens in the left eye, and thirteen-point-eight in the right eye. Continued worsening at this rate suggest functional blindness in twenty-six hours, fifty-one minutes."

The precision of the computer did nothing to remove the sting of its report. Beverly was going blind, and in just over a day, she would be. She'd worked briefly with the tactile interface, so she could explain it to patients, but she'd never been dependent on it. Surgery to remove them would be futile. Everything she'd tried on the cataracts of the original Klingon patients had been temporary at best. Whatever this virus did to ruin the vision of its host, it did with a mission.

Rubbing her eyes in slow, sympathetic circles, Beverly tried not to tense. "Isolate possible causes of cataract development."

"Working."

While the computer ran its study, she stared at the clouds that were obscuring her vision. It was only going to get worse. Her usefulness as a researcher would drop dramatically once her vision failed, and everyone else on the medical staff had been exposed not long after her. They'd manage to take care of their patients as well as they could, but with the number of infected racing towards the entire population of the station, resources were thin already. Once the limited amount of caregivers were all blind, what they could do for their patients would be even less.

Tapping her commbadge, Beverly reached Jellico's junior OPS officer. The young man she'd been talking to whenever she needed something was named Ensign Ullrich, and for some reason, he seemed to keep the same insane hours she did.

"How may I help you, Doctor?"

"I need guide lines set up along the promenade. They should run to the replicators, medical staff and the toilets."

"Guide lines, Doctor?"

"The second stage of the virus blinds the infected. If they're going to be able to do anything for themselves, they'll need guide lines to get around. We need to set them up now, while the engineers setting them up can still see where they're going."

"Yes Doctor." He paused while he issued the request. "An engineering crew will be right on it."

"Thank you, Ensign."

The commlink remained open and Beverly's hand was just over her badge when she heard Ensign Ullrich clear his throat.

"Doctor? Forgive me for sounding like I don't have faith in you and your staff but are we going--"

"Are we going to die, Ensign?"

Another pause, and his tone softened in embarrassment. "To be honest, I've been trying to decide if I should write my mother when I have my lunch break."

Beverly cringed, trying to shake the idea that this ensign might be younger than Wesley, and that they both were abandoning their families.

"Speaking as a mother, children can never write too much."

Her diplomatic answer calmed him a little. "She says the same thing." Another pause, and again, Beverly nearly terminated the line. "Doctor?"

She smiled wearily and asked his question for him. "Am I writing my son?"

"Forgive me--"

"When I take a break, I will write my son and my--"

She stopped herself for a second and debated her choice of description for Kathryn. They most often used partner. Will preferred girlfriend, but Will liked to make her roll her eyes. In another set of circumstances, she would marry Kathryn, Beverly was sure of it. Hell, if she got out of this one, she was marrying her. That was good enough.

"My fiance."

"Because they'd like to hear from you?"

Beverly latched on to the note of hope in his voice and clung to it as if she could fan it into a flame. "Because they always like hearing from me."

Not that they were going to die. That wasn't an option Beverly was willing to consider. There were thousands of Wesleys and Kathryns on the damn station, and if were within her abilities, none of them would die. The universe had enough death in it already.

"Thanks- Thank you, Doctor."

"Crusher out."

Beverly had a single moment of giddy abandonment. She couldn't be sure what Kathryn would say if she found out Beverly had proposed without telling her, via a third party, while dying. If she lived to see the look on her face, it would all be worth it.

"Analysis complete." The computer's calm voice dragged Beverly back to the impossible.

She caught herself toying with her sleeve and forced her hands down. "Report."

"Cataract formation is probably due to an excess of the rare prion septimiticin-G, produced by the shedding of the viral protein coat and released into the blood stream when the infected cells are destroyed and burst. This variety of septimiticin damages surface cells in the eye, leading to a membrane-like cataract that develops rapidly."

Beverly leaned against the wall, shutting her slowly failing eyes, "And is impossible to remove unless I can get the prion out of everyone's bloodstream."

"That is correct. To correct the cataracts, septimiticin-G must be removed from the bloodstream. If not, the cataracts will recur."

She said what the computer would not. "And resist treatment." Tapping her head against the wall, Beverly forced herself off of it. "Dammit."

Pacing wouldn't help, and she only made one circuit of the tiny room before she realised she didn't even have the energy for that. Twisting to check the readout on her portable emergency dialysis filter, Beverly frowned. It had dropped in efficiency by two points. Her blood was becoming too toxic for the machine to clean. Though it was usually a very helpful medical device, the free prions in her bloodstream were clogging the synthetic replacement for her kidneys as badly as they'd jammed up her real ones.

Maybe she should write Kathryn and Wesley's letters now, before the cataracts made her eyes white and while she could still see the monitor she was speaking to.

Was it admitting defeat? Did saying goodbye mean she'd never speak to either of them again? When would Wesley even receive her letter? Months from now, after her ashes were scattered across the sector?

She couldn't even think about Kathryn, partly out of self-preservation. Beverly had been the one left behind when a routine mission ended in death. Now it was her turn to rip Kathryn's heart out of her chest. Worst of all, she knew exactly what that wound felt like, and how impossible it was to heal.

Her eyes stung, and she rubbed them quickly, blaming the cataracts and the exhausted muscles trying to focus her failing eyes. She didn't have time to cry for any other reason.  


* * *

 _"We have been infected with a deadly airborne virus. Do not under any circumstances, approach or attempt to dock. Deep Space Five is under a level four medical quarantine by order of Doctor Beverly Crusher, Starfleet Medical. I repeat, we have been infected with a deadly airborne virus. Do not, under any circumstances, approach or attempt to dock. Deep Space Five is under a level four medical quarantine by order of Doctor Beverly Crusher, Starfleet Medical. We have been infected with a deadly airborne virus. Do not, under any circumstances, approach or attempt to dock…"_

"The message is on a continuous loop, Captain." Tuvok reported from the security station on the bridge of the _Titan_.

He knew Beverly's voice as soon as the message got past the first few words. Will shifted his weight in his chair, meeting Deanna's eyes while he buried his concern for their friend. There were thousands of people on Deep Space Five. Saving Beverly meant saving all of them.

"Can you raise them on subspace?"

"I will make the attempt." Tuvok's hands flew skilfully across his console. "The warning message is being broadcast on all available frequencies, and from several buoys surrounding the station. I will use a secure channel."

Will stared at the starlines on the viewer. "This is not how we intended to reestablish contact."

Reaching for his hand, Deanna squeezed his fingers tightly. "Could the virus really have evaded their biofilters?"

"The ion storm could have knocked them out. A level nine is one step away from armageddon in space." Maybe Deep Space Five would have been better off letting themselves be destroyed, if this virus was half of what the warnings they'd crudely translated suggested it was.

Beverly's ominous warning continued to drone until Tuvok shut down the channel and made the connection to station operations. "I have Deep Space Five."

Nodding, Will squeezed Deanna's hand again. "On screen."

Admiral Jellico's familiar weathered face appeared on screen. He began in profile, and Will stiffened as he recognised him. He'd never gotten along with Jellico, and even now he disagreed strongly with the admiral's opinions of how to run a station. They managed to be professional in public, but that was purely out of Starfleet decorum. Even Will, who nearly hated the man, had to wince when Jellico's face turned to the screen. His eyes had gone cloudy, as if they'd been smudged with flour.

"This is Admiral Jellico. If I remember right, Will Riker is the captain of the _Titan_. Is that you Will?"

"It's me, Sir."

"Sounded like you." The admiral sagged into his chair, shutting his eyes. "Can still see a little if I squint, but even that's starting to give me a headache. That, or the damn virus is finally starting to melt my brain."

Will was almost grateful the admiral couldn't see his expression. "What happened?"

"We transferred power during the ion storm, someone, could have been anyone, got a little overzealous and used the protected reserve. Doctor Crusher had a few of the infected patients in stasis, the fields dropped while power was low and the blasted virus moves so fast that we had five thousand infected before main power even came back online."

He shrugged and set a PADD down on his desk. "It'll all be in my report. Hopefully Starfleet won't receive it posthumously."

Will was still searching for words when Deanna spoke. "Do you have any uninfected? Anyone we can evacuate?"

"We've scanned everyone aboard, ran the biofilters on maximum; none of it works. Doctor Crusher has discovered the virus has a prion component. Biofilters can't detect prions, and they're too small to filter from the air. They could be spread in transport, therefore, nothing can be transported off of this station. No one may come aboard, not even in isolation suits. Doctor Crusher has issued a level four quarantine and I agree."

Leaning forward in his chair, Jellico put his hands on the desk, as if he were surrendering. "I don't want to see anyone go through this hell. Once you're infected, you can't eat, can't drink, can't see…but you're still in control, you know you're you right up until you're drowning in the fluid in your lungs."

He sighed. "I apologise, Captain. My promenade is full of my infected crew and our prognosis is getting as bleak as my vision. I've been composing a full report for Starfleet Command but our long range communications are still down. I don't even know if we'll have the manpower to repair them. This virus is brutal and devastatingly virulent. I can't Doctor Crusher is concerned we may be facing Case Zaire."

Will ran the old terminology through his head. Deanna looked at him, puzzled.

Tuvok nodded, often an ominous sign. "Named for the obscure exposure of a laboratory worker to a deadly virus called Ebola Zaire in the late twentieth century on Earth. Her accidental infection could have spread the virus over the densely populated North American continent. Case Zaire is a final solution to a deadly viral infection with no hope of cure and great risk of quarantine. Case Zaire was last implemented on the _USS Nobel_ in 2308 after their exposure to the M3-lactias virus. The _USS Valdemar_ was forced to destroy the former vessel with all hands aboard."

"Doctor Crusher brought up Case Zaire?" Will couldn't picture Beverly giving up. Not with so many lives at stake.

"An hour ago she was unwilling to consider it, but now the casualty reports are creeping towards a thousand. This thing is nasty, Will. I'e never seen anything like it, and Doctor Crusher, well, if she's at a loss there may be nothing anyone can do."

Will hated agreeing with Jellico. It stung, like a bad note in a jazz concert. Beverly was the best, and if she was at a lost, Jellico might just be right. He remembered reading about Case Zaire in the Academy command training courses. He was never going to use it. He'd been convinced then, even thought it barbaric. Now perhaps he was jaded.

"Transmit your report, we'll relay it to Starfleet Command."

Jellico's clouded eyes searched for Will and his gaze settled near Will's face. The effect was absolutely disconcerting, as if he were being looked through.

"I'll send it over." He paused, furrowing his eyebrows to catch a glimpse of Will through filmy eyes. "Don't try anything heroic. My doctor and I have been signing death certificates all morning. If Doctor Crusher calls this Case Zaire, I don't want you to hesitate."

Deanna touched Will's arm, resting her hand there. Beverly had been one of their closest friends for over a decade, losing her now was unacceptable.

"We'll be here, Admiral, if you need anything."

Jellico wouldn't stoop to admitting he was grateful, but he did smile. The gesture turned up his lips in a ghoulish expression of mirthless gratitude. "Deep Space Five, out."

Pushing off from his chair, Will retreated towards his ready room. "Tuvok, get me Starfleet Command. Then inform the science sections I'm going to need a report on that tomb in an hour."

"Aye, Captain."

He didn't have time to think about the thousand dead on the station, or whether Beverly would give the order for the _Titan_ to murder the rest. There was still time. He had to think about that, not the awful message he had to convey back to Starfleet Command and everyone with someone they loved on the station.  


* * *

"Your emotional involvement is making it difficult for you to concentrate." Seven set down her PADD and stared at Kathryn across the desk. Though it could have been an accusation, with Seven, it was simply a fact.

Kathryn was distracted. Badly distracted, if she was honest with herself. It had been days since anyone had heard from Deep Space Five, and the _Titan_ hadn't reported back in yet. The whole station could be gone and Beverly...

Seven deserved better than Kathryn snapping.

"When you're in love, it's very difficult to force yourself to be rational when you have reason to be concerned that your loved one is in danger."

"That is most irrational. Your loved one would be better served by your attention being focused on your work."

"Emotions aren't rational."

Kathryn dropped her head to her hands and stared at the glass table. "They really aren't. Seven, I would love to be able to turn my emotions off and work. You're right it's not rational and it's not useful I just--" Taking a slow, deep breath steadied her somewhat. "I can't stop thinking about her."

"Doctor Crusher is a professional."

"Yes."

"She willingly joined Starfleet."

"Yes."

"She understood the consequences of this assignment and all other assignments she has undertaken as a Starfleet officer."

"Well, yes, Seven--"

"Would she want you to worry?"

Kathryn rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. "No, of course not."

"Why are you worrying?"

That was the million bar of latinum question, wasn't it? Kathryn stared up at the blank ceiling of her office and wondered if they should give up and head back to her apartment. With Seven there, it wouldn't be so empty and she'd been waiting to introduce Seven to the cat. They were either going to hate each other or find that they'd been waiting for each other all their lives.

"I'm worrying because I can't do anything. I'm worrying because I don't know if she's all right. I'm worrying because I miss her, because she's in danger, because I love her."

"Love is the least rational emotion."

"But it's the most fun." Kathryn dragged herself out of her chair, dropped her coffee mug in the replicator and turned back to Seven. "Dinner?"

"I am capable consuming nourishment now."

"You're hungry?"

Seven sorted the PADDs on the table and opened a case for them as she pondered the question. "I have been warned of your poor record with replicators."

"Beverly programmed this one." Kathryn sighed and shook her head. "I promise she's much better at it than I am."

"I will trust Doctor Crusher's culinary abilities and eat with you."

"Like pulling teeth…"

Kathryn was halfway to the door, almost out of her office when her console lit up with an incoming message. Almost simultaneously, Ensign Hjel appeared around the corner and Kathryn recognised the lurking form of Alynna behind her.

"Kathryn-" Alynna dismissed both Seven and Kathryn's aide with a wave of her hand. "The _Titan's_ made contact with Deep Space Five."

The spectre of something being wrong roared up in the back of Kathryn's mind, screaming at her to run, to hide, to get the hell out of there before Alynna made it real.

"The station was moderately damaged during the ion storm. Long range communications and a number of other systems are still out. Captain Riker relayed Admiral Jellico and Doctor Crusher's preliminary reports."

Alynna was here, in person, and she held the PADD in her hand. "The virus broke quarantine."

"No." The word slipped past her control, no argument of hers could change facts.

"Doctor Crusher's report says the station is completely compromised. The virus has swept through every protective measure." No matter how gently Alynna tried to put it, each word drove a stake through Kathryn's soul.

"No, no, there must be--"

"She asked that Starfleet Command consider Case Zaire."

Standing bolt upright, Kathryn stared into Alynna's eyes and repeated the only word in her head. "No, no, Alynna that's not what she wrote."

"There is also--"

Kathryn's heart pounded in her ears, nearly drowning out what Alynna was saying.

"There's a message for you, Kathryn. A personal message."

Shaking her head, Kathryn backed away from the PADD Alynna held towards her. "No."

"Kathryn-"

"No."

"Kathryn, I'm so sorry."

"No, Alynna, no. This, this isn't happening." It couldn't be. The virus wasn't loose, Beverly wasn't infected and they were most definitely not discussing terminating everyone on the station. They didn't do that. They couldn't. Not Beverly.

"I'm sorry." Alynna's voice caught, nearly fading to inaudibility. She made every effort to meet Kathryn's eyes, but Kathryn couldn't look. She couldn't see the sympathy there and know everything was real.

Alynna set the PADD on the table. The metal smacked against the glass as if Kathryn's universe was starting to crack.

"We're holding a formal briefing in twenty minutes. Meeting room two. I'll let Seven of Nine know."

Alynna studied Kathryn, almost touching her, but respecting Kathryn's space when she pulled away. She couldn't cry. She just couldn't. Letting any of that emotion out, even acknowledging it was there would make her useless, worse than Seven had ever feared regarding Kathryn's irrationality.

Alone in her office, Kathryn stared at the PADD on her table. It was so innocuous, so small and innocent. Picking it up, her hands trembled. She made it to the third line before she cracked. What started as a shaky inhalation became a sob, then she was lost.  


* * *

"Kathryn, I-" Beverly stopped, turning her head away from the computer. Kathryn couldn't see her, she'd decided to write her letter instead of recording it just so Kathryn wouldn't have her last memory of her be of Beverly's eyes white and unseeing.

Even so, Beverly was having trouble looking at the monitor.

"I want to say I'm sorry." She paused, shutting her eye and picturing Kathryn as she'd left her, coffee in hand, working on her day off. Who would stop her from working now? Who would fix the replicator?

"But I'm not. I can't be sorry for having you, for being with you and sharing what we had. I can't be anything but thrilled and completely, utterly grateful for every moment. You brought so much life to my world. Colour, and laughter and your cold feet in bed in the morning.

"I love you. I love you the headless sort of way I thought I was incapable of ever sharing again. You eclipse everything else, you're part of my existence, my soul. I will always be profoundly grateful that I had you when I did.

"And that you had me."

Beverly smiled, forgetting for the moment that her feet were going numb and the dead sensation was creeping up from her ankles towards her knees. Her mouth tasted metallic, and her lips were cracked.

"Because you did. You had every part of me, and I love you for that. You let me find myself, and you, and wrapped us up together in contentment. We worked. We clicked, we were one of the best times of my life."

"And I might be losing you. I-" She couldn't let herself falter. She had to finish. She had three lifetimes worth of work to do and only enough energy to drag herself through the next few days.

"I'm so sorry I'm leaving. I- I want to say there's still a way, but I can't lie to you. I can't not say goodbye. I- I can't even ask you to forgive me. Kathryn, I need you to know, if it could be any other way. If there was anything I could do to make it back to you, I would, and we would be blissfully happy.

"When I close my eyes, I think of that, making a world where we are happy for years and years and years. Your hair's very pretty when it goes white. Elegant even."

Pausing again, Beverly imagined Kathryn smiling at her from the bath, hair down and white like the bubbles around her.

"When you get there, and I like to think you will. Know I'm watching you, and that I think you're beautiful, because I've always thought so. And I love you. Kathryn, I love you. If you hate me for leaving, and you'd have every right to, remember I love you and maybe someday, you'll forgive me for what I've done to you."

Fumbling with the recording, Beverly managed to shut it down just before the tears came. She allowed herself a moment, shut away in the medical lab with only the computer to hear her, Beverly sobbed. Her chest rattled with everything she was letting go, all the emotion of an entire lifetime of promise she needed to release.

"Computer." Her voice was choked, hollow already, as if she'd already succumbed. "Mark message for Admiral Janeway. Deliver it with my report."


	7. Chapter 7

"I want _Voyager's_ EMH, as many working type III EMHs as Starfleet Medical can spare, and a hospital ship, maybe two. We can't just write off an entire space station full of people. They're our people, Starfleet officers, civilians. There are whole families on that station. We can't just declare them beyond saving and blast their bodies, their living bodies into atomic dust."

"Admiral, you're overreacting."

Kathryn whirled on Admiral Decker, staring him down hard enough that he winced back from her gaze.

"We're talking about murdering eight thousand people. We're Starfleet, we're the shining light of justice, we can't just kill them."

"Doctor Crusher is head of Starfleet Medical. She is the highest authority in all medical situations. Are you arguing this is not a medical situation?" Vulcans only became more obstinate the more pips they had. Admiral T'Lana was no exception.

"I think Doctor Crusher may be too close to the situation, yes."

"And her judgement is compromised?"

Kathryn circled the table, trying to reign herself in. As it was, she trembled with the noxious mix of rage and grief. "She's infected with a deadly plague. She's dying. Tell me why her judgement would be considered more valid than that of the deputy head of Starfleet Medical, or the plethora of admirals in this room?"

"Any mention of Case Zaire requires evaluation."

"If this virus is as deadly as it has been so far, it certainly qualifies as Case Zaire. We can't risk it escaping into the general population. One station is a tragedy, a colony, a planet. That would be catastrophic."

"Agreed."

The entire conversation devolved, collapsing into an argument between protocol and the dangers of a deadly pandemic.

Kathryn cleared her throat, ready to scream at all of them until they gave her a ship, her former doctor and enough holographic doctors to keep some of Deep Space Five alive long enough to save them. She wasn't settling for anything less and she didn't care if it cost her her rank, her or she had to steal the damn ship.

She opened her mouth, ready to speak when Alynna rested her hand on her arm.

Admiral Nechayev put words to Kathryn's half-formed plan. "I move that we make a final attempt to save Deep Space Five, before officially labelling it Case Zaire. Contact the deputy head of Starfleet Medical, get her down here to review Doctor Crusher's report. Maybe she missed something. She mentioned the virus was interfering with her vision."

Admiral Decker looked at Nechayev, keeping his gaze well away from Kathryn least she burn into him again. "Reevaluating the situation may be wise."

A host of nods around the room negated calling for a formal vote. The deputy head of Starfleet Medical, an elegant Betazoid woman with decades of work in the field, would be contacted on Vulcan and sent all of Beverly's files. There might be a chance. Something Beverly had missed. There had to be something, maybe Seven had found something that would help.

Kathryn looked around the room, looking each of her fellow admirals in the eye before she spoke, daring each of the to tell her no.

"I'm taking a ship, and I am taking charge of the situation. If we reach Case Zaire, I will be the one to give the order."

Her statement hung in the air, heavy like the fog in the morning, and just as cold. Kathryn wasn't going to acknowledge the idea that she might have to be the instrument of Beverly's death. Beverly wasn't going to die, and that was it. That was final and it didn't matter what Kathryn had to do to make it so.  


* * *

 _January 2379_

 _Kissing never grew old. Even the clumsy, fumbling first kisses were infinitely precious. Second and third kisses became more practiced, more connected. Kathryn led and Beverly was the one who dragged them into the bedroom. She remembered that clearly. How the light from the kitchen crept across the floor towards the bed like a landing light._

 _She'd never meant to sleep with Kathryn. Beverly hadn't meant to put her there, in the category of potential lovers. They were just talking, they got along. That was all it was. They both needed friends._

 _Then they were standing there, less than a metre away from the bed, and Kathryn's hand was still on her arm. Were they rushing? Had they not known each other long enough? Was she supposed to say something?_

 _"I-"_

 _Kathryn kissed her, ending Beverly's attempt at speech. "I don't know what I'm doing either." Running her hand down Beverly's chest, she smirked. "Uncharted territory."_

 _Beverly retreated towards the bed, wrapping her hand around Kathryn's as it rested between her breasts. "You won't leave if it's not what you expected?"_

 _Kathryn laughed, pushing Beverly towards the bed and grinning wickedly. "After the Delta Quadrant, I get bored when life's not full of the unexpected."_

 _Sitting on the edge, Beverly reached up, pulling Kathryn lower. "We'll just have to make do."_

 _"You're extraordinarily beautiful." Kathryn ran her hand through Beverly's hair, pushing it back behind her shoulders. "Have I mentioned that?"_

 _"Wouldn't hurt to repeat it."_

 _Kathryn nibbled up her neck, slipping closer to her and brushing against Beverly's inner thigh. "I've spent most of dinner fascinating with this--" She wound her hair through Beverly's hair, running cool fingers down the back of her neck._

 _Grabbing her hips, Beverly eased her closer. "Your own hair isn't good enough?"_

 _"Maybe I'm greedy."_

 _Lying back on the bed, Beverly shivered in anticipation as Kathryn slipped over her. "And I'm going to have to learn to share?"_

 _That low, sultry laughter washed over her again. Kathryn straddled her, stroking her chin. "Something like that."_   


* * *

Beverly woke with her head on the desk in front of her. Her limbs were numb, as if she'd been stunned, and she coughed when she tried to draw breath. If she'd still been able to see, she guessed her fingernails would be bluish. The virus had settled into her lungs, destroying those delicate tissues and leaving a virus-filled mucus behind.

She wasn't looking up at Kathryn, nor was she safely in bed. She was in the medical lab, and she needed to stay awake.

"Computer." Her voice croaked out of her throat. "Replicator stimulant mixture four-seven."

"Stimulant mixture exceeds recommended dosage."

She pushed herself out of her chair, clinging to the desk to keep her balance. It didn't matter how much damage the stimulants were doing to her liver if her lungs failed before she found a cure, it was all over. "Override. Authorisation Crusher charlie-two-two-beta."

"Override accepted."

The replicator hummed off to her left, and Beverly stumbled towards it, depending on the walls for support. Six steps to the replicator, six back to her desk, two steps to the DNA sequencer. Beverly jammed the hypospray into her neck and the familiar hiss dragged her back closer to consciousness.

Kathryn was still with her. She could almost feel her hands on her neck and the gentle weight of her resting on her stomach. It was impossible. Her nerves were just starting to go to pieces and her mind was making the best of mixed signals. Everything was falling apart, her finely tuned body falling into chaos and she was hallucinating about sex with Kathryn.

"At least I'll go smiling."

"Please restate request."

"Never mind." While she was by the replicator, she should drink something. It might help her throat. "Green tea."

Her lips were cracked and her tea tasted faintly of blood. Drinking it too quickly, Beverly spilled some of it down her uniform and batted at it with a half-useless hand. Did it matter?

"Computer, run the protein synthesis of sample two-eight-five again."

"Working."

For a moment, Beverly could hear Kathryn whispering in her ear, wondering if she had freckles on her knees just before she slipped off her trousers. She nibble her lip, pulling off the tiny pieces of dead skin until it started to hurt. Pain was sharp enough to cut through the insulation coating her nerves. She felt the stinging sensation in her lip and focused on it.

It wasn't Kathryn accidentally biting too hard just before she orgasmed, as she occasionally did, it was her, alone in a room, trying to stay alive.

And yet, Kathryn continued to sneak into her thoughts, dragging her back to when she'd been happy, another lifetime ago, one with light and feeling.

"Protein synthesis complete. No potential antigen factors found."

Beverly sighed, then coughed, her chest spasming as it tried feebly to clear the slime out of her lungs. Her useless eyes watered. "Begin protein synthesis of sample two-eight-six."

"Working."

Her hair brushed her neck. Reaching up to stroke it away, Beverly rubbed her swollen fingers against her skin. Kathryn loved to kiss her there, just below her hairline. She had such an obsession with her hair.

"Protein synthesis complete. No potential antigen factors found."

"Computer, sample two-eight-seven."

Pausing, the computer determined what she was asking and complied.

"Working."  


* * *

Bunks reminded Kathryn of the Academy. Unlike her comfortable quarters on _Voyager_ or her fairly lavish apartment on Earth, medical ships were as barebones as troop transports. Doctors didn't sleep much and obvious they didn't care where it was.

Seven was on the bunk above, but she wasn't sleeping. She'd been working until they got there because Seven liked to push the bounds of how much regeneration she needed. Occasionally, especially during a crisis, Kathryn was jealous. Regeneration was faster than sleep, and Seven didn't suffer as much from being deprived as she did.

She wasn't aware she'd drifted off when she woke, sweating, staring up at the bunk above her. Her sudden gasp started Seven.

"Admiral?"

"I'm all right."

Seven's legs dangled off the edge of the bed, then the young woman lowered herself down from the bunk. "It is acceptable for you not to be all right."

"You've been listening to Chakotay."

Stretching as she headed for the replicator, Seven turned over her shoulder. "He has shared his concerns for your welfare with me. You have a difficult time forming attachments."

Kathryn laughed bitterly and tried not to yawn. "Maybe I just form my attachments to difficult people."

"The chance of death in Starfleet is higher than that in the civilian population."

Rolling onto her side, Kathryn watched Seven sip her nutritional supplement without seeming to enjoy it. "But civilians don't understand Starfleet."

"You are referring to the way Mark Johnson 'dumped' you?"

"Ouch, Seven."

"Surely your new relationship with Doctor Crusher negates how you feel about the end of your relationship with Mark Johnson."

Unable to decide if Seven was purposefully trying to get at her, or if she was just confused, Kathryn sat up, narrowly missing hitting her head on the bunk. "The end of a relationship is rarely pleasant, and sometimes those feelings stay with us for a long time, even if we wished our hearts have moved on. I don't think aboutMark much anymore, but I do think about Beverly. Losing her--"

Kathryn hadn't meant to even venture near the topic in conversation. Losing Beverly wasn't an option, that was why she'd left everything, even the damn cat, and took control of this nearly hopeless mission.

"Admiral?"

"I'm all right." She couldn't cry in front of Seven. If she started again, she might not be able to stop. "I had to leave our cat with Admiral Nechayev."

Seven nodded, processing the change of subject. "Does Admiral Nechayev like felines?"

"She has two of her own." Kathryn had been surprised by that. Alynna seemed to reserved to share her apartment with two cheerful furballs that greeted her when she dropped off a very displeased maestro. When had she become so attached to the cat? He wasn't even a dog who knew she was gone, yet, she cared for him. She could blame Beverly for that.

"You were surprised by that?"

"I'm surprised by many things. Routine missions that go catastrophically bad is one of the worst ones."

Seven touched her shoulder, returning a gesture Kathryn had used several times. The idea that she would repeat it now warmed her almost as much as her touch and Kathryn smiled weakly. "I am glad you're here, Seven."

"I would not allow you to attempt to save Doctor Crusher alone. It is easier to accomplish difficult tasks with a collective."

Kathryn patted her hand, wishing she could hug her. Seven might not respond and she didn't have the energy to explain why she wanted the physical comfort. Maybe when it was all over.

"You require rest."

Was it the circles under her eyes or the way Kathryn couldn't stop yawning?

"I do, don't I?"

Seven's expression softened. She was so much more human than she'd been a few years ago. "I will continue to examine if nanoprobes can be used to combat the _SuHn'Nos_ virus. I will report on my findings when you awaken."

"It's not going to work, is it?"

"Nanoprobes are not able to eliminate the prions that are released by the virus and lead to most of the physiological damage. Even if they were able to combat the virus, replicating enough to treat eight thousand infected is not currently feasible. We would require a Borg cube."

Kathryn winced as she retreated back to her bunk. "Knock on wood."

"There is no plant cellulose for me to 'knock'."

"I meant that's the last thing we need, a Borg cube."

Seven frowned, calculating something in her head. "I believe even the Borg would be infected and suffer high casualties from this virus. Such an encounter would be pointless."

Trying to wrap her head around a virus that the Borg wouldn't be able to defeat, Kathryn sighed. "Any chance it was made specifically to right them?"

The computer chirped beneath Seven's fingers. "Unlikely. This virus is not virulent enough to be resistant to adaptation. Borg casualties would be high, but they would prevail. The dialect of Andorian present on the tomb structure also predates Borg presence in either the Alpha or Beta quadrants by several thousand years."

Her eyes were so tired that her eyelids hurt and the idea of opening her eyes again was abhorrent. "So it's not a weapon against the Borg."

"I do not believe it is a weapon at all."

Kathryn dragged herself back from the abyss of unconsciousness. "Oh?"

"I have isolated the chemical compound that causes the cataracts responsible for the epithet 'white-eyed death'. The cataract formation is a side effect. It seems to function mainly as a hypothalmus suppressant."

If she'd had any energy at all, Kathryn would have found that fascinating. As exhausted as she was, it sounded like part of a dream.

"You should- mention that to the captain and the Doctor."

"Yes, Admiral."

Seven said something else, but Kathryn lost the battle against sleep and it reclaimed her. When she slipped into a dream, Beverly was with her, and they were both in Beverly's bed. She remembered undoing her bra, and the way Beverly's cool hands cupped her breasts, exploring.

Then she was there. Her traitorous mind pulling her back to a simpler time before deadly viruses and terrifying thoughts of marriage.

 _  
January 2379_

 _Beverly smirked, running her thumb across one of Kathryn's nipples. "These do help you fill out your uniform, don't they?"_

 _Catching her breath quickly, Kathryn tried to ignore how good it felt to have Beverly's hands against her bare skin. They were soft and her fingers were sure. "Is that envy? Because you never would have been a dancer if you had these."_

 _Beverly coyly sat up, dropping her hands to Kathryn's waist. "Maybe I'll have to settle for admiring them. I never really did, before you, I mean."_

 _Kathryn nuzzled her cheek, suddenly shy. "There are a lot of women much more beautiful than I am."_

 _"Not to me." Stopping herself, Beverly blushed. "That sounds awful, doesn't it?"_

 _"No, no, that's romantic." Kathryn slipped off her lap and stood in front of her, slowing removing her uniform trousers. "I think. It's been awhile."_

 _Slipping to the edge of the bed, Beverly grabbed Kathryn's trousers and helped ease them down. Laughing, she nodded and agreed sheepishly. "It starts to sound kind of pathetic when it's been years."_

 _Kathryn halted her progress, taking Beverly's face in her hands. "I don't think it's something you forget. You're a doctor, I'm sure your knowledge of anatomy is sufficient."_

 _Kissing her wrist, Beverly smirked up at her. "I'll do my best." She followed Kathryn's arm up, trailing her lips along her skin._

 _Shivering a little, Kathryn shut her eyes. "Would you feel better if I told you I was nervous too?"_

 _"The great Admiral Janeway, shy in bed?"_

 _"If I keep my eyes closed, you can't disappear."_

 _"Hey." Beverly grabbed Kathryn's bare hips, pulling her close. "I'm not going anywhere and neither are you. I'm keeping you right here."_

 _Holding her close, Kathryn felt Beverly's breath against her stomach. "I'd like that. I think I'd like that very much."_   


* * *

"Hypospray." Beverly coughed, losing the word in a rasping fit.

"Please restate request."

Her voice was failing her, and her mind was going with it. The computer couldn't tell her where she'd put the hypospray down, she had to find it.

"Dammit." Even hissing the word sent her into another fit of coughing. Could she risk draining her lungs? Would it help?

"Left hand, about twenty centimetres." Kathryn's voice was calm, steady and unlike the computer, she knew exactly what Beverly was trying to say. She wasn't here. She couldn't be here. Beverly's oxygen deprived neurons were creating her, which is why Beverly was convinced she could see her, when when her eyes were entirely clouded over.

Feeling clumsily along the counter with her left hand, Beverly's fingers finally closed around the hypospray. Jamming it into her neck, she sighed. The stimulants no longer did much, and she was forcing herself conscious with force of will more than medication.

"I can't--"

"You can do this, Beverly. I believe in you."

"Belief won't…it can't cure this."

"Breathe slowly, let your lungs recover. They're still working, you just have to stop fighting them."

She had to smile. "You're not Kathryn."

"You know I'm not here." Kathryn circled her, standing behind her. "But you needed someone to be."

Gasping, Beverly forced her chest to slow. Kathryn was right, it was easier that way.

"So I don't…alone?"

Beverly knew her nerves were too shot "So you can find the cure."

"Can't." Beverly's concentration faded, and her chest seized up again. Fighting for breath, she leaned against the counter, hanging on to stay on her feet.

"Slowly, slowly. Don't resist it." Kathryn hovered behind her, patient and calm. "You're on the right track."

"No…antigens."

"Maybe that's not what you need. What else destroys a virus?"

Beverly rolled her dry lips together and reached for the tissue cultures. "Antimatter."

Kathryn's laughter filled the tiny laboratory. "And?"

"B-cells, antiviral cleaning solutions, plasma fires-"

Shaking her head, Kathryn smiled. "And?"

"Black holes."

"Beverly--"

"If I can't find an antigen I'll never be able to stop this. You know that because I know that and you aren't here."

Kathryn touched her cheek, turning her head from her work. She wasn't there, she couldn't be, but she was. Beverly knew she was.

"You're so close, Beverly."

"I'm not."

Kathryn whispered in her ear. "It's right here."

"It's not."

"What don't you have?"

"An answer!" Beverly pushed away from the counter and circled the room, crossing her arms over her chest and trusting herself not to blunder into the wall. "I don't know what you're getting it."

"You have an advanced viral infection. You're hallucinating. You've gone blind because of a viral by-product. A virus wouldn't make you blind, there's no point, so what are you missing?"

"Maybe if I could see I'd know."

"Beverly--" Kathryn's admonishment cut through Beverly's bitterness.

"Septimiticin-G causes cataracts."

"And?" Kathryn could play this game all night. She wasn't dying. She was a hallucination.

Beverly leaned against the wall, panting. "Makes it impossible to work."

"I need you to focus."

"Take off your clothes."

"I could, but then you'd be distracted." Kathryn leaned next to her, arms crossed over her chest. "Septimiticin-G causes cataracts, yes, and what else."

Beverly didn't know. Her brain was turning to mush and starving for oxygen. She couldn't possibly remember.

"Inhibits the hypothalmus." She was an idiot. A first year medical student would have noticed. "No. It can't be that simple."

"How many people have the virus?"

"Eight thousand."

"How many have fevers?"

"No, it's not that simple."

Kathryn smiled, absolutely proud of her. "Ask the computer, Beverly."

Had the computer been ignoring her babble? Was it all in her head?

"Computer, are any of the infected running a fever?" How did she know she was talking now? Beverly waited, praying she wasn't entirely lost.

"Negative. All body temperatures have been reported normal."

"Open-" she stopped, again unable to speak. She had to tell Will. Someone on the _Titan_ had to be able to do something."

"The _Titan_ , Computer. I--"

"Opening a channel to the _Titan_."

"Beverly?" Will's voice was deeply concerned. "Beverly we can barely hear you."

"Fever."

"Beverly?"

"Fever, Will. I- I can't- have your doctor. Fever."

Kathryn was back, wrapping her arms around her. "It's all right Beverly. He heard you."

She was warm, and her headache was finally gone. The rasping, ragged sound of her breathing softened and slowed.

"It's all right now."

Beverly didn't know if it was herself or if somehow Kathryn was there, but she wanted to believe that voice because there was nothing else she could do.  


* * *

"We're picking up a transmission from the _Titan_ , Admiral, priority one." Kathryn straightened in her seat on the bridge of the hospital ship _Zhangzihe_. Steeling herself wouldn't work if everyone was dead, but she refused to contemplate that. It wasn't over, not if she had anything to say about it.

"Put it through."

Will had hope in his eyes. She wasn't imagining it. Beneath his concern, Will still had hope and Kathryn clung to it.

"Admiral Janeway, we've lost contact with the station and we received a last message from Doctor Crusher before Deep Space Five went silent. She suggested we research fever."

Seven perked up from the science station. "The Vulcan, Bajoran and Andorian words for fever are all found on the tomb superstructure." She finished her sweep. "It is also present in the other five dialects."

Kathryn tapped her comm. "Doctor, are you reading this?"

"Fever, yes Admiral. Not the most clear of suggestions. Most viral infections present with a fever and this--" The Doctor stopped short.

"The Suhn'Nos virus does not."

Seven interjected. "Doctor, the septimicin-G protein inhibits hypothalamic function. I reported that this morning."

"Yes, Seven, I read your report." Another pause and Kathryn could have shaken him if it would have made him process faster. "You also mentioned nanoprobes will not be affective."

"They will not."

"I must run some tests."

"Doctor, there are no samples of the virus. Deep Space Five is under a full quarantine. We can't beam anything from it aboard."

Kathryn caught the gaze of her pilot. "How far out from Deep Space Five are we?"

"Twenty-six minutes, Admiral."

She snapped her eyes back up to the viewscreen, clinging to that hope with all she had. "Will--"

"I'll keep trying to establish contact, Admiral." His tone faded. Will suspected as she did that Beverly had been the last to succumb. "My CMO is running simulations based on Beverly's data of the viral structure."

"Are they promising?"

Will added his CMO to the commlink. "Ree?"

The new voice was quick and excited. "The virus appears to break down at forty-one degrees celsius."

Seven frowned and Will whistled low in his throat.

"That's pretty high Ree."

"The infected are already weak to the point of coma." The Doctor's displeasure was easy to hear over the link from below deck. "Even if we could spike their temperature that high, many of them may not survive."

No one else voiced the question, so Kathryn had to. Her own voice sounded leaden.

"Do we have a choice?"

The Doctor answered her with professional calm. "With their hypothalmic function compromised, the infected will not be able to adapt to the external temperature. If we raise the temperature of the air high enough, their body temperatures will rise."

Seven kept her eyes on her control panel when she added, "Humans, Bajorans and Vulcans can survive temperatures as high as fifty-five or sixty degrees, but Andorians and Tellarites are more sensitive. Some of the rarer species in the Federation may also be present and unable to adapt."

The Doctor nearly interrupted her. "Do I have access to the manifest of Deep Space Five?"

Kathryn nodded, even though he couldn't see the gesture. "It's in the main computer.'

"I'll calculate the likelihood of survival. Raising the temperature is up to you, Admiral, Captain. Sickbay out."

Kathryn locked eyes with Will. He had the better ship. The _Zhangzihe_ was little more than a giant sickbay with warp drive. "We used an inverted warp field on _Voyager_ to raise her temperature."

"The infamous cheese infection." Will smirked at her and offered, "Tuvok," in explanation.

"Deep Space Five has no warp field to invert." Seven tilted her head quickly, pondering something. "The station is also still moderately damaged. They may not have enough power to heat the air sufficiently."

"What about the _Titan's_ warp field?" Will glanced off screen at Tuvok. "Could we extend it to cover part of the station?"

"Manoeuvring that close to the station would be dangerous without shields in the residual ionisation would not be advisable."

"So, provided we won't kill everyone on board by superheating the station, and it will eliminate the virus, we just need to come up with a way to heat a space station a few degrees." Will ran his hand through his hair, eyes wide. "Simple, isn't it Admiral?"

Somewhere in the back corner of Kathryn's mind, an idea floated as insubstantial as a snowflake. If one ship wouldn't work, maybe…

"We'll be in touch, Will."

"We'll be here, Admiral. _Titan_ out."

Will Riker's face disappeared and starlines retook the screen. Seven was busy calculating something and the Doctor was hard at work down in sickbay. Generating heat in space was fairly difficult. Deep Space Five was far from any stars or planets. Stuttgart-class stations were massive spirals of duranium, designed to be sturdy. The plasma conduits would be shielded. Maybe the phaser banks?

Kathryn abandoned her chair and waved a technician away from a computer terminal. Heat was usually something space stations tried to avoid, but now they needed it. Enough to raise everyone's body temperature but not enough to kill anyone.

Easy. No margin for error, thousands of lives on the line, just don't think of Beverly. Beverly, who'd managed, somehow, to find a clue that everyone else had overlooked, even while she was…

Kathryn wasn't even thinking the word. It was not an option. Not now, when they had a chance. She buried herself in the technical specifications of Deep Space Five and let the _Zhangzihe_ warp her there as fast as her nacelle would carry them.

There was hope now and Beverly would live until they could save her. She had too. Kathryn wasn't contemplating any other outcome because they didn't exist. The station would be saved. There would be no Case Zaire and everyone who loved someone on that station would see them again.


	8. Chapter 8

One of the good things about engineers was that they could be counted on to cut to the point. Unfortunately, their conclusion was not what Kathryn wanted to hear.

"Based on their current power output, Deep Space Five can't generate enough heat to sterilise the infected areas. Even considering that Admiral Jellico and Doctor Crusher were forward-thinking enough to assemble the station's population in the main promenade here, on the fourth ring of the centre section." Riker's chief engineer pointed at the diagram and tapped it.

"It's a big area. We don't have access to their environmental controls, and even if we used full quarantine suits, we'd be violating the level four restrictions."

"So if we want heat, we have to generate it externally." Kathryn looked from the engineer to Tuvok and Seven. She couldn't put into words how happy she was to have them here. She wanted B'Elanna as well, but she wasn't going to get that lucky.

"And a lot of it. We're talking about several thousand cubic metres of air. Deep Space Five took their phaser offline and dumped power into their shields during the ion storm, and the plague spread so rapidly after the storm that they didn't have time to reroute the power back. The shield grid doesn't produce heat, nor can we redirect it towards the station without breaking down structural integrity to the point where the station would be like an eggshell." The _Titan's_ chief engineer shook his whiskered head. "This is not an easy problem, Admiral."

Kathryn sighed and nodded. "I know, and the stakes are pretty damn high. We're going to figure it out. We have too."

Seven and Tuvok shared a glance, and he nodded towards what she'd been quietly working on for the last half-hour.

"Admiral, I believe we can use the same method _Voyager_ employed in seven years ago on stardate 48846.5. A symmetrical warp field could be directed at the station and hit with a plasma burst with enough energy to heat the station." Seven handed her the PADD.

"The only problem with repeating the method we used to save the bio-neural gel packs from infection is that _Voyager_ had the capacity to generate a warp field the size of the ship. Deep Space Five does not."

Kathryn read over the PADD quickly, taking in Seven's calculations. That couldn't be right. The station wasn't that big, was it?

"We would need twenty-eight _Luna-class starships_? Seven--"

Tuvok backed Seven up: that was an excellent sign that Seven's plan was right. "Her calculations are correct, Admiral. Twenty-eight is the minimum that would cover the inhabited areas of the station, and Seven's plan is entirely dependent on all the vessels involved being able to maintain a symmetric warp field of identical frequency. It will not be easy to maintain for the required period of time. Each vessel will need to precisely calibrate their warp field, and all will be defenceless."

She was missing something. Kathryn hadn't slept much in the last decade and her brain was running like a broken shuttle.

Will rescued her. "We're perilously close to the neutral zone. The Romulan Empire's been in a state of unrest since Shinzon's coup last year. If a few Romulan commanders wanted to strike a blow against us-"

"We'd be handing them thirty ships with their shields down." Kathryn resisted the impulse to slam her head against the table in frustration. "What's the likelihood of any Romulans looking for a fight?"

Tuvok and Seven were unwilling to give her a probability, which meant it was higher than Kathryn liked.

Will was diplomatic. "Hard to tell with Romulans. We made a contact or two the last time the Enterprise went to Romulus, I could try to reach someone friendly and see where the fighting is this week. The Romulans might get back to use faster than Starfleet Intelligence."

Starfleet Intelligence was her headache to deal with, so was the rest of the admiralty. Kathryn sat back in her chair, more hopeful than she had been in the last few days of hell. "Captain Riker, please see if the Romulans are feeling magnanimous. Commander Tuvok, Seven and Commander Ra-Havreii, modify the _Titan_ and the _Zhangzihe_. If we're going to need thirty ships, lets start with the two we have. Let's hope Starfleet has that many nearby."

Seven met her gaze with difficulty. "I estimate that the population of Deep Space Five will decrease by several thousand if we are not able to complete our task in the next sixteen hours. If the disease continues to follow its established pattern, Deep Space Five will be devoid of life within the next twenty-eight hours."

"Time is of the essence. Everyone on the station is counting on us. Dismissed."

As the meeting broke up, Kathryn stayed in the _Titan_ 's observation lounge. Tuvok hovered behind her, calming her with his presence. He'd seen the pain in her face and he knew her well enough to know how hard she was working to hide it.

"It is possible that Doctor Crusher will survive. You should not give up hope."

His hand came to rest on her shoulder, and Kathryn shivered. She still couldn't afford the emotions she was repressing and that level of control sapped her strength.

"That sounds downright optimistic for a Vulcan."

Tuvok inclined his head. "Optimism is not always illogical. There is still a reasonable chance to believe Doctor Crusher and everyone on the station is still alive. It is a much better outcome if everyone remains so."

Turning from the view of the station, Kathryn looked into Tuvok's familiar brown eyes. "She sent me a goodbye letter."

"She may not have wanted you to lose someone else you loved without the chance to say goodbye. Doctor Crusher lost her husband without being able to say goodbye. It may have held emotional significance that she tell you how she feels."

Slamming her hands down on the table stung, but Kathryn cherished the sensation. "I'm not letting her go."

"Nor should you."

"I-" Kathryn swallowed and lifted her partially numb hand to wipe her eyes. "I love her."

"And this makes you unhappy."

"It makes me terrified." Putting her hand on her hip, Kathryn wilted. "I don't know what I'll do. I think about returning to our empty apartment, and the cat and--"

Tuvok was steady and calm, everything she wasn't. "You intend to marry her."

"Marry her, have children with her. Tuvok, I let her convince me to get a cat."

"You do not appreciate feline company."

Kathryn paced in the tiny space she had, then stopped finally, learning on the chair. "I do now. I miss the cat. I miss her."

"You believe she will return?"

"I have to. I haven't clung to anything as desperately since we made it home."

His hand returned to her shoulder, warm and solid. "You were successful when you brought us home. I believe you will be equally successful now. Hope is a vital component to human success and you need not let it go."

Kathryn sighed, her breath shuddering out of her chest. "I don't think I can let go."

"Then do not."

She wavered, holding herself firmly away before she gave in and hugged him. Tuvok held himself firm, like a Vulcan should, but his hands went around her back and held her. "You have done well to get this far. Doctor Crusher will be proud of your accomplishments."

"She told me not to come."

"And must have known you would."

Kathryn paused, then lifted herself from his chest. When a Vulcan let you hug him, you knew you were in trouble. "Thirty ships."

"Depending on their size and warp capabilities, yes, thirty is an appropriate estimate." His arms returned to his sides and Tuvok waited for her to move.

"Let's go find them."

He waited for her to move towards the door. "After you, Admiral."

Following her former security chief onto Will Riker's bridge, Kathryn let the warmth of the hug stay with her. They could do this. They had a plan.  


* * *

"We're picking up a transmission, Captain."

Jean-Luc Picard looked up from the arm display on his chair. Erilon Perseus had a fascinating shift towards the blue-green end of the spectrum, and he wanted to run a tertiary scan, just to see what it would look like under the right sensor conditions.

"From whom, Lieutenant?"

The rather young lieutenant at tactical paused, as if she had been trapped in a moment of confusion, which was never good on the bridge of the _Enterprise_. She was new enough that he didn't know her first name, so Jean-Luc allowed her a moment to collect herself.

"It's been transmitted in the clear, Captain."

Only distress calls, incredibly unimportant personal communication, and interstellar ion conditions were transmitted in the clear. If it wasn't a distress call, that she would have reported immediately, new or not, her momentary pause was justified.

"Source of the transmission?"

"Sector six-two-four, Sir. It appears to be the _Titan_."

Captain Riker transmitting in the clear was something interesting. Erilon Perseus forgotten, Jean-Luc gave the viewscreen his full attention. Instead of Will's familiar beard and bright eyes, Admiral Janeway appeared on the screen. The last time he'd seen her on Earth she'd been sitting across the table in a tiny cafe in Burgundy, next to Beverly, teasing him that the knowledge of wine was not a prerequisite for captaincy, and she'd managed many years knowing little about it. She'd been happy then, full of life and hope, and he remembered the feeling of warmth he'd had, knowing Beverly was so happy with this woman.

Now she was exhausted, her hair still up in a neat twist that did not match the rest of her appearance. Her uniform had the rumpled look only a fellow commander would recognise as a day's worth of wear without respite. The dark circles under her eyes were etched deep and she was pale, like a sheet of old parchment.

"This is an emergency transmission. I am Admiral Janeway of the United Federation of Planets. Deep Space Five has been compromised by a previously extinct deadly viral infection, known as 'tevalalam ak' in pre-Surakian Vulcan and 'eshtojinn uhrak' in ancient Bajoran. Thousands of lives are at risk.

"I request all starships capable of generation a warp field of twenty million cubic metres or more, not currently on emergency missions, to divert to Deep Space Five immediately for relief efforts. A massive coordinated warp field will be used to eradicate the virus at mark thirty-eight, galactic standard time.

"The necessary symmetric warp field configuration follows. A description of the virus also follows. This virus is a level four quarantine risk. Do not approach the station if you cannot be of assistance. If the relief effort is not successful, Deep Space Five will be destroyed with all hands."

Kathryn's voice was choked, as devoid of emotion as a Borg transmission. Her eyes were dead as well.

Beverly was on board. He'd brought her there himself, and if Kathryn had been this gutted by her announcement, Beverly was facing her death, if not--

Jean-Luc refused to believe her dead. Beverly was his oldest friend, losing her to a virus was unacceptable.

"Lieutenant Ramndar, contact Starfleet command on a secured channel, confirm that Starfleet Medical has declared Deep Space Five Case Zaire."

"Aye, Captain."

Worf entered the bridge from the turbolift, jaw set and eyes burning with purpose. He'd heard the message. "At maximum warp, we will reach sector six-two-four eleven minutes after mark thirty-nine on the galactic clock."

Forty-nine minutes too late.

"Engineering."

"La Forge here, Sir."

"We need to reach Deep Space Five in less than sixteen hours."

Jean-Luc had entrusted his ship to Geordi La Forge for more than a decade. If there was a way to reach the station, Geordi would know it. The pause dragged out, and Jean-Luc began to fear that even Geordi could not bring the _Enterprise_ there in time to do anything more than mourn the loss of thousands.

"We're only designed to travel and warp nine-point-nine-seven-five for an hour, two tops. I might be able to push it, but we'd be risking burning out the lining of the reaction chamber and torching half the nacelle coils."

"Could we still generate a warp field when we arrived?"

Geordi's tone was less than optimistic. "As long as you didn't want to go anywhere, we could generate a field. If we damage the reaction chamber, Deep Space Five will need to tow us in."

Worf tapped his console. "Commander, we have received schematics for a symmetrical warp field. We need to reach Deep Space Five and still be able to generate this field in less than sixteen hours."

Another pause, and Jean-Luc forced his mind not to imagine a universe where Wesley Crusher was an orphan. Did he even know of his mother's danger?

Lieutenant Ramndar looked up from her console. "Starfleet Command confirms that Deep Space Five has been declared Case Zaire, Captain." She was too junior of an officer to know what she was reporting, but she read Jean-Luc's expression. He saw fear in her eyes.

Geordi's response came after a long series of calculations. "We'll need to divert power from all nonessential systems. If I alter the warp field to put less stress on the nacelles, there's a chance we'll arrive on time. Captain, there's also a chance that the nacelles were burn out halfway there. We'd been stranded."

"Stranded but alive, Commander. Make your modifications. Prepare for maximum warp."

"Aye, Captain."

Worf took the chair at Jean-Luc's side, filling the bridge with Klingon composure. "Case Zaire has not been declared in seventy-one years."

Jean-Luc sat bayonet straight in his chair. "Doctor Crusher obviously felt it was appropriate."

"Are you familiar with the virus Admiral Janeway mentioned, Captain?"

He'd never come across it. Ancient viruses were not something Jean-Luc had ever researched, but he spoke Vulcan and he'd recognised the gravity with which Admiral Janeway had named the virus.

"I am not, Mister Worf. The translation is unpleasant." The Vulcans were not a species to exaggerate. Most of their medical data was exact and passionless. This virus, the tevalalam ak, had been named with fear. "Whatever is lose on Deep Space Five, the Vulcans called the 'white-eyed death'."

Worf's eyebrows raised. "Not a very Vulcan name."

"Lieutenant Ramndar, raise Professor Uhnok at the Vulcan Historical Archive. Use my name and tell him I need to know everything in the database about tevalalam ak."

"Aye, Captain."

Worf read over the plan for a symmetric warp field on his console, his expression growing darker. "Captain, I must inform you that Admiral Janeway's plan will require a cumulative symmetric warp field of six hundred million cubic metres. There may not be sufficient vessels within range. Deep Space Five is on the outer fringe of Federation space. We are only detecting eighteen vessels of significant size in sensor range between us and Deep Space Five."

Jean-Luc's heart sank, growing cold as it settled. "We shall hope there are more out of sensor range."

No variation in Jean-Luc's tone would affect a Klingon, and Worf stood. "Permission to search for more vessels with less conventional methods, Captain."

"Mister Worf, I don't care if you conjure the ghost fleet of JthellnRuk if they can generate a warp field."

"Aye, Sir." Worf's large form left the bridge.

"Bridge, this is engineering. We're ready down here, Captain." Geordi hesitated, then spoke to someone next to him before returning. "It's not going to be a smooth ride."

"Understood. Tactical, set condition yellow." Jean-Luc tapped his chair controls and opened a channel to all decks. The bosun's whistle filled the air, then he addressed his crew. "All hands, this is the captain. We are about to push the limits of our vessel. Be alert to structural failures, resonance damage and the emergency diversion of power. Let us see that this _Enterprise_ continues to live up the standard of excellence set by her predecessors. Picard out."  


* * *

He was walking through hell. There was no other way to describe it. Even Dante would have been at a loss for words. _Voyager's_ EMH stood on the promenade of Deep Space Five, surrounded by the dying. He'd seen epidemics before, and he'd been involved in several viral outbreaks, but this was something that transcended imagination. As far as his synthetic visual cortex could see, the Doctor stared at the dying.

Cots had been packed so tightly together that no one could have walked between them. The heads of each row pointed in towards a narrow walkway with a taunt guideline in the middle, so the blind healers could find their way. The feet of one set of beds touched the feet of another set so that where he stood, two rows of the dying were on either side of him. His tricorder beeped with several dozen warnings as it collected life signs.

All were fading. Some, ten percent, maybe more, were already dead. None of the infected moved, the virus had effectively paralysed all of them. He leaned down to look at the eyes of what had been a rather handsome Andorian civilian. His eyes were white and stared up at the ceiling without seeing. His internal organs were failing in groups, with the nephritic systems already gone. Even if Admiral Janeway's plan was successful, the medical needs of these people would be immense.

The Doctor walked ten metres and scanned another patient. She was slightly better off, but she'd need synthetic kidney support for weeks, possibly longer. Her eyesight was also gone, and for some reason, she held the hands of the patients on either side of her. So did the women on her left. In fact, as he walked, the Doctor noticed many of the patients touching, holding hands, or resting their hands on each other in some fashion.

Facing death, all were family.

He stood again, walking through the steadily worsening cases as he entered the infirmary. The Doctor found one nurse, then another, and then two doctors who'd collapsed on their rounds. Turning one into a more comfortable position, he tapped his commbadge.

" _Titan_ , this is the Doctor. The station's population has been localised in the central ring of the promenade. It looks like everyone is here, lining up like sardines."

Dying sardines.

He took a deep breath, fighting his emotional subroutines. "Many of the infected's condition is too far advanced to be helped by the synthetic fever. I predict several hundred will die in the attempt, with additional casualties of five or six hundred in the days following. This virus is brutally efficient, even systematic in the way it destroys the organs of infected."

"Can you do anything for them, Doctor?"

Admiral Janeway's voice was nearly as exhausted as he'd heard it. The Doctor almost didn't dare to look for Doctor Crusher. He admired her professional, and after meeting her personally, he had decided she was one of the more interesting humans he'd met, as well as beautiful. Admiral Janeway was quite lucky.

If Doctor Crusher died here, he dreaded being the one to inform her. Deep Space Five was already a tragedy. Losing the entire crew would make it the Federation's worst loss since the last Borg assault.

"My fellow EMHs and I will begin administering respiratory and nephritic stimulants to those strong enough to survive the dose as soon as I've marked the locations to deploy the hologenerators."

"Do your best, Doctor."

"I always do, Admiral."

Climbing an emergency ladder up to the second level, the Doctor set the first transporter tag in the centre of a catwalk above the main level. A hologenerator would fit there, wirelessly feeding on the station's functioning power grid. He'd need a second one on the other side of the ring and he made his way purposefully through the rows of the dying.

Setting the other transporter tag inside a storage closet, one of the few places there was enough space for the generator, the EMH tapped his comm again.

"You may beam over the generators, _Zhangzihe_."

"Acknowledged, Doctor."

That voice was an engineer, not Admiral Janeway. Perhaps Seven had finally gotten through to her and dragged her off to bed, or sedated her. At the rate she was pushing herself, she'd be right next to Doctor Crusher in the infirmary, being treated for exhaustion.

Transporters hummed and the hologenerator appeared in front of him. After a moment, the _Zhangzihe_ activated both of them and six EMH Mark IIIs shimmered into existence.

"Doctor, how may we be of assistance?"

"This station has been hit with an viral epidemic. We need to stabilise as many patients as possible for the temperature increase necessary to eliminate the virus. Medical supplies are in the infirmary."

They were also scattered around the deck where the stricken medical staff had left them but the Doctor did not need to tell them that.

The identical EMH Mark IIIs nodded, like a set of sextuplets in their uniforms. "Yes, Doctor."

They scattered evenly, distributing supplies and beginning to stabilise who they could. The Doctor watched them set up a treatment pattern according to the triage protocols he shared before he headed into the infirmary. The worst of the infected were in there along with Doctor Crusher, were she still alive.

Tapping his commbadge, the Doctor addressed Deep Space Five's computer. "Are there any crew members not on level four?"

"Negative."

That was good. Everyone was here.

"Any crew members not in the infirmary or the main promenade?"

"Doctor Crusher is in medical laboratory three. Doctor V'Konna is in medical laboratory one. Doctor Mitchell is in medical laboratory one. Nurse Haskill is in the medical storage locker. Nurse sh'Durens is in medical storage locker…" The computer's list continued. Many of the medical personnel had been going about their duties, trying to deal with the Herculean task of keeping the crew alive until some of them. He would assemble them, taking care of his brothers and sisters in blue before he returned to the other EMHs.

Stilling the butterflies in his holographic stomach, the Doctor entered med lab three. Tissue cultures arrayed along the work area were more random then he expected, but Doctor Crusher had been blind while she did her research. Hyposprays lay scattered across the desk and the floor. He picked up a few and scanned them.

Stimulants, nephritic support agents, synthetic liver enzymes, blood thinners, synaptic stabilisers: Doctor Crusher had gone far over the limits of medical safety trying to fight back her symptoms long enough to stay conscious and work on the virus. Considering she'd been the one to find the answer that the whole station's survival was depending on, the Doctor found himself agreeing with her decision. He'd risk his program for his crew.

He found her body when he circled the work station in the centre of the lab. Her hair fanned out around her head, covering her cheek. Her arms were together, near her chest, and her lab coat clung to her like a shroud.

The Doctor opened his tricorder, reaching for her neck. Her thready pulse was echoed by the tricorder. She was still alive, but hanging on by sheer stubbornness. There was dried bloody fluid on her lips, and Doctor Crusher's lung function was severely hampered. She already suffered from pneumonia, kidney and liver failure, partial renal collapse and electrolyte imbalance. Her skin was pale and cool to the touch. The top layers of epidermis on her neck tore beneath his fingers, made too fragile by the deteriorating condition of Beverly's blood. What little blood that appeared was already dark, not needing to brown in the atmosphere.

He tapped his commbadge, careful to keep his tone neutral. Just knowing Beverly was alive would make the admiral hopeful. Janeway had the responsibility of every life on that station, her not giving up was essential.

" _Titan_ , this is the Doctor. Tell Admiral Janeway Doctor Crusher is alive and in better condition than I anticipated."

"She'll be glad to hear that, Doctor." Even Captain Riker seemed cheered by the news.

The last wasn't a lie. According to her own notes, Doctor Crusher had been one of the first exposed, and she'd been pushing her body far past the limits of ordinary human endurance. She was lucky to be alive, and extraordinary blessed to be still breathing on her own.

Lifting her into his arms, the Doctor noted the way her flesh was swollen and held the marks fro his fingers long after he'd moved them. One of the other EMHs transported away one of the dead and made space for Doctor Crusher on one of the biobeds. With a little luck, she'd live long enough to survive the cure.  


* * *

"Galactic mark thirty-seven-point-five, Admiral, Captain."

Kathryn lifted her head from her hands. Will's first officer had given up her seat on the bridge to monitor the symmetric warp field from engineering so Kathryn sat in the semicircle with Will and Deanna.

Twenty-three ships.

They were seven short of Tuvok's optimistic estimate, and she could tell from the terse look on Seven's face that the projected warp field was less than satisfactory. She didn't want to ask. She was tired in a way she'd been a handful of times in her life: in the hands of the Cardassians, dragging _Voyager_ through one more battle with the Borg and dodging ion storms on the _Bonestell_.

How would she choose which part of the station to save? What right did she have to say this half would live while the other half died?

Would Beverly be on the right side?

Tuvok's report was for both of them, but he kept his eyes on his captain. "At present strength, the symmetric warp field will cover sixty-eight percent of the station's fourth level. The damage caused to all vessels during the first attempt will negate the opportunity for a second. To achieve the temperature required to destroy the virus, we will need to expend higher levels of energy within the field, increasing the risk of death. Casualties on Deep Space Five will be high."

Will nodded and Kathryn envied his ability to process information. He'd slept some. Kathryn had tried, but her mind wouldn't shut off. When she stood, she was a breath from passing out, but when she lay down, her consciousness wouldn't stop.

"Thirty percent?"

"Fifty-six point one." Seven answered more exactly. "More vessels may still arrive."

"Let's all focus on that." Will had the kind of easy-going leadership that made his crew cheerful, even when they were talking about thousands dead.

"Engineering reports ready."

"All right, lets make sure everyone else is ready to go. Hail all vessels and have them test their shield configuration. We're only going to get one shot, and everyone on Deep Space Five is depending on us."

Forty-three point nine. Beverly's chances of dying were forty-three point nine percent. Kathryn stopped hearing Will and stared down at her hands. Her hands were useless. She couldn't make more ships appear any more than she could cure this damn virus. She'd failed and there was a forty-three point nine chance that Beverly would be the cost of that failure.

"I am detecting a vessel at high warp." Tuvok's report drew up Kathryn's head.

Will turned in his chair. "Who is it, Mister Tuvok?"

Tuvok brought the vessel on screen and Will smiled wearily. "I believe you are familiar with the _Enterprise_ , Captain?"

A moment later Jean-Luc Picard's familiar, concerned face replaced the _Enterprise_ on the viewscreen. "Admiral, Will, I hope we've arrived in time."

"Cutting it a little close, aren't you?"

"Geordi has just informed me we are lucky to have arrived at all." The _Enterprise_ had been surrounded by vented plasma and gaseous duranium. She'd pushed her limits. "However, we may have just broken a Starfleet speed record."

"I'll send over a bottle of champagne. Seven, Tuvok, how are we doing with the _Enterprise_ added in?"

"The _Enterprise_ produces the largest warp field of any vessel currently present. We will now be able to cover seventy-six percent of the station. This will lower the casualty rate by eight percent. "

"Not low enough." Kathryn said grimly. Standing up took reserves of energy she wasn't aware of having. "I hope you brought your medical staff, Jean-Luc."

"They're prepared, Admiral. The _Enterprise's_ sickbay is at your disposal."

She nodded, deeply thankful for his presence and the great _Enterprise_ looming over the smaller vessels. "Seven, please transmit new coordinates to our fleet so they can get into their new positions."

Seven's recalculations already finished, she nodded. "Transmission complete, Admiral."

"Well fortune be with us all--"

"Admiral, there are two vessels decloaking behind the _Enterprise_."

"You didn't tell us you had company, Jean-Luc." Will teased, waiting to raise their shields.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Captains, Admiral. Both vessels are Klingon. They have identified themselves as the _ghIr vITTergh_ and the _RutTIhr_. Both are assigned to Klingon Intelligence in the personal fleet of Chancellor Martok."

Jean-Luc's face turned to his right, as he queried his first officer. Worf's answer was affirmative.

"Mister Worf contacted the chancellor through alternative channels for expediency. Martok regrets these two vessels were the only ones close enough to be of assistance."

Both Klingon ships were Negh'Var class, massive like the _Enterprise_ and drastically improving their chances. Will's smile began to look sincere.

"Tuvok, signal the Klingons and offer our thanks. We definitely owe them one." Will turned back to the screen and grinned at Jean-Luc and the Klingon at his side. "Worf, when you bring the calvary, you really know how to bring the big guns."

"A virus is a truly dishonourable foe. Defeating it is of great service to the Empire."

Kathryn couldn't yet smile, but the weight of impending doom lifted from her chest. "Seven, add the Klingons to our fleet."

"The new warp field is projected to cover eighty-eight percent of the station. Casualties will be diminished. Possibly below one thousand."

Taking a deep, yet grim breath, Kathryn looked from Seven, across Tuvok and finally met Will and Jean-Luc's eyes. Praying to anyone who was listening, from Chakotay's spirits to the Klingon ancestors, she put all of her energy into the idea of success.

"Looks like this is it, gentleman. Tuvok, open a channel to the fleet."

Before Kathryn could speak, even before Tuvok could open a channel, alarms went off on his panel.

"I am detecting five vessels decloaking."

Will's head snapped over. "More Klingons, Tuvok?"

"Negative. The additional vessels have Romulan signatures, Sir."

Chaos erupted around her.

"Romulan?"

"Shields up!"

"Admiral, we will not be able to produce the warp field with our shields up."

"Are they charging weapons?"

"Their weapons are not charged and their shields are down. Admiral, the Romulans are hailing us." Tuvok rarely sounded surprised.

Will swallowed a chuckle. "Looks like it's your lucky day, Admiral. Be my guests.""

"On screen."

"Admiral Janeway." A trim Romulan commander with grey in her black hair and hawkish eyes eyed her across the viewscreen. No detail of Kathryn's exhausted exterior was missed. "We wish to be of assistance in your efforts to eradicate the tevalalam ak virus. It cannot be allowed to exist."

"Thank you." There wasn't anything else she could say. "Your help is deeply appreciated. My officer will send you coordinates for your vessels."

"We will await them and your mark, Admiral."

The Romulan commander disappeared from the screen.

Will turned to her, surprise and amusement dancing in his eyes. "I guess we're waiting on introductions then."

"I don't care who she is, we'll take her help." Kathryn's eyes stung. Five D'deridex class warbirds were more than enough to finish the symmetrical warp field with each of them several hundred metres longer than the _Enterprise_. She almost didn't care if they attacked afterwards; finally, they had a real shot of beating the virus.

And Beverly was still alive.

"Tuvok, open a channel to all vessels."

The computer whistled, and he nodded.

"All vessels, this is Admiral Janeway. Now that we're in position, we'll engage the cumulative symmetric warp field on my mark."

The rest of Kathryn's life rested on this mark, yet she stood there, calmly watching the display on the _Titan's viewscreen._

"Engage."


	9. Chapter 9

Seven turned from the inefficiency of the viewscreen and focused on her console display. The _Enterprise_ was obvious damaged, but her warp field activated precisely according to specifications. She doubted the ship would be able to move on anything but manoeuvring thrusters. Sovereign-class vessels were not designed to cruise at maximum warp for extended periods of time. She was moderately impressed that the chief engineer had managed to keep the vessel in warp long enough to arrive.

However, were the Romulans to turn violent, the damage done to their small fleet, as well as the station, would be catastrophic. Admiral Janeway would remind her not to judge a situation, even one with the an unexpected arrival of a Romulan squadron, by her first thought.

If the Romulans meant to attack, logic dictated that they should have already, before Starfleet had time to react. The Romulans would be as vulnerable as everyone else once they engaged their warp drive in the cumulative generation of a symmetrical warp field.

There was still a eleven-point-four chance that the entire attempt would end without saving anyone on board the station and damaging the warp nacelles of every ship surrounding the station. Seven decided not to mention it, and waited to see if the field would coalesce.

The first two vessels, the _Titan_ and the _Zhangzihe_ , merged their warp fields seamlessly. She expected that because she had the most time to spend on the calculations, and she had visited each vessel to explain it to the chief engineer. The five Romulan vessels activated their warp drives in unison and the synced within point three variance. Entirely acceptable.

The smaller vessels were less of a concern, by spacing them out between the larger ships, Seven had ensured that their weaker warp fields were swallowed up into those of the larger ships. Overall, the variance had to remain under two-point-eight, and she was pleased that the warp field was currently synced at point-nine with seven vessels to go. The massive _Enterprise_ struggled for a moment, her warp field flicking in and out before it settled and merged into that of the Klingon warbirds. Klingon ships had a slightly different warp configuration and she had not been sure how it would adapt, but even that went smoothly.

The smaller bubbles around two or three ships merged, sliding together like mercury loose on the floor of the cargo bay. Then the larger bubbles begin to merge, fighting each other for a moment before they joined. There were five, then four, then finally two, each nearly covering half of the station.

“Adjust warp field symmetry by point three laterally.” Her command was passed to the fleet by Admiral Janeway, and slowly, the variation fell, the dissonance vibrated away, and for a moment, thirty-one vessels existed in the same symmetric warp field, one large enough to encompass all of them, and all of the fourth level of Deep Space Five. In the moment of joining, the final melding of energy, the corners of Seven’s mouth tilted up in a half-smile.

Perfection.

Perfection, as always, was fleeting and the tiny adjustments of each ship were required to maintain the bubble.

“Temperature on level four of the station has risen two degrees. Now twenty-five degrees and continuing to rise.” Tuvok reported, ever calm.

Admiral Janeway smiled, and the fleeting touch of warmth to her face melted her exhaustion, if momentarily.

The Doctor joined the comm channel. “We need to maintain a temperature of sixty degrees for at least ten minutes.”

Even Seven’s superior physical capabilities would be compromised by remaining long at that temperature. The infected on the station were all suffering from a compromised hypothalamus, their body temperatures would rise quickly, and the damage of hyperthermia might prove fatal to many. It was logical to make the attempt to save them, because the virus promised certain death, while the treatment was only likely to cause it.

She did not envy the Doctor, but his situation was more tenable than that of Admiral Janeway. Were Doctor Crusher to be among the dead, Seven feared Admiral Janeway would be forever altered by the loss. She did not wish to watch her friend and mentor suffer. Regrettably, she did not have that level of control over the universe.

“Inform all ships they may continue to hold this configuration. We will wait for the Doctor’s confirmation of success.”  


* * *

The normal reaction to heat in many humanoids was to produce sweat; none of the infected around the Doctor were sweating. Had he been human, he most certainly would have been. His tricorder reported the air temperature reaching fifty, then fifty-one degrees. He tapped his commbadge.

“Admiral, hold this level and let us check the progress of a sample of patients.”

“Acknowledged, Doctor.”

The Doctor scanned the nearest three patients, and watched across the promenade as the other EMHs followed suit. The normally pale skin of the human female in front of him was already pink, and deepening towards red. Her viral load had halted its formally unstoppable growth, the demands of the heat temporarily overwhelming her body’s other systems.

The Vulcan doctor next to the first patient was coping mildly better with the heat, and her viral load had also halted. Her skin was a bright green as her blood vessels attempted to reduce the heat. Her breathing was better than the human patient. A third patient, a human male, was also no long producing more copies of the virus overwhelming his system, but his heartbeat was already irregular.

The rest of the EMHs reported in. Incidences of tachycardia were increasing, but not yet at dangerous levels. Casualties would still be acceptable and the virus had not yet begun to break down. It wasn’t enough to stop it, this virus had to be destroyed down the last copy, but there was reason to be hopeful.

“I’d like to hold at this level for a few minutes, Admiral. Gradual change might cause less injury to my patients.”

Across the promenade, one of the EMHs, the one he had designated EMH Two, shook her head and pulled a sheet over one body of a recently deceased patient. There would be more before the virus was eradicated and he wondered if he’d stationed himself just out of tricorder range of Doctor Crusher to protect the Admiral from any bad news until after the station was saved.

Seven’s voice interrupted, changing the direction of his thoughts. “The warp field will not hold past twenty minutes and thirty-one seconds. We will not be able to make a second attempt.”

“Doctor,” Admiral Janeway’s tone was cold and efficient. “We have one shot at this.”

“Raise the temperature to sixty and hold there.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Then they waited: the crews useless as their vessels worked, and the EMHs unable to do anything but support failing organs and pull sheets over the faces of the already dead. If he’d been human, his brain might not have been able to count the patients he lost. Unfortunately, the Doctor’s computerised mind was too exact.

Two to tachycarida, then one due to advanced liver failure; he wouldn’t have survived, artificial fever or not. Respiratory failure took four more, then more tachycardia. Brain haemorrhage, pulmonary oedema, and another three cases of tachycardia. The other EMHs reported their dead, and all the information settled in his tricorder. Losses were still acceptable, if unfortunate, and the viral count was dropping.

“Admiral!” He tapped his commbadge, even though the gesture was useless with an open commlink. “Admiral, the viral count is dropping across the board.”

The air temperature was sixty-degrees, spending more time there than was absolutely necessary would kill the more fragile patients, but they needed the viral load down at a manageable level. No more than a few hundred per patient, so the immune system could fight it off. Anything higher would risk relapse, and no one could survive that.

“Still dropping.”

He heard sighs of relief, and Admiral Janeway’s voice finally sounded as if she were human.

“That’s excellent news, Doctor.”

“We need to keep the temperature for a few more minutes, so we can be sure the virus will be weak enough to be completely eliminated by the immune system. I’d be most pleased if it will completely break down.”

EMH Six passed him with fresh hyposprays in her hands. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Many of the infected will not survive the complete destruction of the virus.”

“We can’t risk having it spread.”

She agreed with a soft nod. “Yes, Doctor. I concur.”

There were no gods of holograms to pray to, nor did he believe any deities of the flesh were listening. Checking his transporter tags, the Doctor turned his attention back to the commlink.

“Admiral, when the virus is eliminated, I am going to have a lot of critical patients who will need immediate medical attention. My fellow EMHs and I will start distributing transporter tags. I need the _Titan_ to coordinate the distribution of patients to every sickbay surrounding us. Tell them to expect multiple organ failures, hyperthermia, and problems with respiration and blood pressure.”   


* * *

 

Holding on to the back of the _Titan’s_ helm officer’s chair to keep her feet, Kathryn nodded in response as the Doctor spoke. Seven, Tuvok and Will listened as well. Thankfully, Will began to give orders before her voice could fail her.

He touched her shoulder, drawing her back from the grey abyss of exhaustion. “Would you like me to contact the Klingons and the Romulans, Admiral?”

She should do that. She was the one in charge. Kathryn forced herself erect and to let go of the chair. “I’ll do it, Will. They’ve already done so much to help us, suppose we have to try for it all, don’t we?”

“Even if each ship takes responsibility for two hundred patients, we’re all going to be stretching our resources. Use my ready room. My replicator makes a great cup of coffee.” He dropped his hand to the small of her back, steadying her when she faltered. Will did it quietly, almost as if he were the empath instead of his wife. Deanna had been watching her, and as she retreated towards the ready room, Deanna followed.

Kathryn wasn’t good with counsellors or telepaths but she didn’t have the energy to hide from Deanna. Leaning on the wall, she ordered coffee and then stared at the cup in her hands, as if she’d forgotten what it was.

“You have to drink it for it to work, Admiral.” Deanna sat down in the chair across from the captain’s behind the desk. She crossed her legs and folded her hands over her knee, absolutely at ease.

That was why Kathryn was so leery of counsellors. They were always at ease, knowing something she didn’t. Sipping her coffee with a grimace, she forced it down. It was good coffee but the sharpness of it made her shudder.

“Did you pass forty hours yet?”

Staring at Deanna, Kathryn sat down. Her legs throbbed liked she’d been running. Her coffee cup clinked against the desk, then settled.

“Pardon?”

“I find my hands start to shake at forty hours. I get this pounding headache at forty-five and the one time I reached fifty, I passed out standing up.”

Blinking at the counsellor in absolutely confusion, Kathryn waited for an explanation.

“Hours without sleep, Admiral.” Deanna’s black eyes were kind. “How long has it been?”

Rubbing the corners of her eyes against her headache, Kathryn pried her eyelids open. “I don’t know.”

“Are you having nightmares?”

Kathryn clumsily knocked her cup against her chin while trying to drink it, spilling coffee on the desk and herself in a shower of warm brown droplets. It wasn’t much of a spill, but she had to wipe her chin on her sleeve.

“I need to hail the lead Romulan ship, counsellor.”

“You may hail them when you have answered my question. It’s a quick one.”

Nightmares. Kathryn wiped her sleeve against the desk and kept her eyes down. “Not nightmares, exactly.”

Her cheeks stung with heat and she realised with horror that she was blushing. “Beverly. I-“ it shouldn’t have been difficult to say. “I dream about Beverly, at least, I did the last time I slept.”

“And you’re in love with her.”

“Desperately.”

Deanna’s warm smile had the same promise of comfort as Kathryn’s mother’s. “Good.”

“Good?” This wasn’t progress.

“Beverly’s an old friend. I’m pleased that she’s as happy with you as you are with her.”

In the middle of a symmetrical warp bubble big enough to swallow a space station, all Kathryn could think about was Beverly. “She’s mentioned me?”

“Yes.” Deanna nodded emphatically. “How intelligent, how compassionate, how adorable—“

“She didn’t say adorable.” Kathryn was not having this conversation with an empath. She really was hallucinating now.

“She said you get flustered.”

“I don’t.”

“And you yell at the replicator.”

“Only when it doesn’t work.”

“And that you’re more charming after an incredibly stressful day of saving the universe than anyone has a right to be.”

Without an answer, Kathryn simply stared at her, dumbfounded. “I-“

“She says you are.”

“Am not.”

Deanna’s smile was as full of amusement as it was warmth. “What do you dream about?”

“Being happy.” Which was the silliest reason anyone had ever given to avoid sleeping. “I dreamt about being happy with her.”

“And that frightens you.”

Kathryn’s stomach dropped into free fall and she worried that she was going to vomit what coffee she’d drank. She wanted to say no, or tell Deanna politely that she needed to talk to the Romulans. Instead, her lips moved of their own accord.

“Yes.”

“Okay, Admiral. So, what’s bad about being happy?”

Nothing. Everything. The last time she was happy she was thrown seventy-thousand light years away. Before that, her father died. Justin died. Like Beverly was about to die.

“You haven’t failed her.”

“I let her go.”

“Did you make the ion storm? Create the virus? Send the _SuHn'Nos_ to Deep Space Five?”

Loathing Deanna was so much easier than finding the problem. “Of course not.”

“And yet-“

“Counsellor.”

“It’s your fault, isn’t it?”

“No-“ Kathryn choked on the word and corrected herself. “Yes. All right. Yes. It’s my fault.”

“Why?”

“Because I think everything is my fault. I’m a control freak and I—“

Deanna shook her head; her dark hair moving slightly with the motion.

“Because I was happy.” Like a comet too close to the sun, the pieces of Kathryn’s resolve scattered and evaporated. “Beverly is going to die because I was happy.”

“Right.”

“That’s insane.”

Deanna left her chair, crossed to the replicator and found a towel in the drawer in the wall Kathryn had no idea existed. Returning to Kathryn and the desk, she dried it nearly. “That’s love, Admiral.”

“You’re saying love is inherently insane?”

The counsellor dropped the towel into the slot beneath the replicator and smiled as she turned.

“Will you tell me it’s not, Admiral?”

“No.” Kathryn made a concentrated effort to stop tumbling over her words and sighed, cornered. “You’re very difficult to argue with.”

“I don’t think my mother would agree.” Deanna’s smile was slightly self-deprecating, and entirely honest. “Beverly will live or she will die. You are her companion, not her doom. She loves you, and even if—“

“Don’t.”

“Death is not the result of what we think or feel. Death is simply the end of life. It will happen to us all.” Deanna relaxed, smiling again in reassurance. “Hopefully not for awhile yet. Now,” she tilted her head towards the door, “I’ll let you talk to the Romulans.”

“Thank you, counsellor.”

Too exhausted to be anything but sincere, Kathryn returned Deanna’s smile. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed talking to a counsellor or was willing to admit she felt better after the conversation.

“Be good to her. I like the way she’s been since you’ve gotten together. She’s happy, contented. She’s stopped teasing me about Will.”

Kathryn couldn’t tell where the joke was, if there was one. It was possible Deanna was entirely sincere. “Which is important.”

Smirking with her eyebrows raised in mock-alarm, Deanna let herself out of the ready room. “You have no idea, Admiral.”   
Clutching her coffee and looking at Will’s comm panel, Kathryn let the hard knot of fear in her stomach go. It wouldn’t leave, but she could ignore it. At least for a little while longer.

“Hail the Romulan flagship.”

The Romulan leading the fleet was a vice admiral, Kathryn knew that much about the silver bird insignia on her uniform. She studied Kathryn, her expression as cooly inscrutable as Tuvok’s mother.

“Admiral Janeway. I am Vice Admiral Toreth of the Imperial Warbird _Khazara_. Have you hailed to threaten us for crossing into your territory or to tell us that your government has decided to consider it an act of war?”

Amusement was written into the lines around the Romulan’s dark eyes. She was making a joke. That was a good sign.

“I might have neglected to tell my government that you’re here. I’ve overworked myself you see.”

Toreth steepled her fingers, forming a neat triangle in front of her. Even sitting back in her ornate chair, her posture was perfect.

“I could offer you my assurances that we mean you no harm, but as a Starfleet officer, I doubt you’ll trust me.”

Kathryn rested her chin on her hand, her head suddenly too heavy to hold up with her neck.

“All the Starfleet ships aren’t going to be able to raise their shields or fire weapons because of the warp field, I have eight thousand infected patients who are all going to be in urgent to critical condition and a station that’s only half-functioning. You could probably haul all of us back to the Empire and demand a promotion.”

“If we defeat the virus.”

She’d been dying to ask. “How did you know about it?”

A perfect imperious smile graced Toreth’s lips. “Let me guess, there’s nothing in the Vulcan or Human databases about the tevalalam ak virus except the name and an obscure notation no Vulcan considers important enough to remember.”

“Yes.”

“When we heard your message, our intelligence passed it through all of our channels, a historian found the reference in the database and brought it to my attention. Of course, after I’d read it, I couldn’t let you fight the virus alone. You’re the Federation. You’d get us all killed.”

That Kathryn could smile at. “Your help is greatly appreciated.”

“If your inferior warp fields hold, my physicians say the virus will be eliminated in the next eight minutes. If you are willing to entrust your people to a Romulan sickbay—“

“I thought I’d have to beg.”

Vice Admiral Toreth raised an eyebrow. “Admiral, really, do you think we came all this way to watch your people die? If I wanted you to beg, I would have asked all ready. Perhaps your intelligence files are not as extensive as ours. When it suits us, Romulans can be very direct.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Kathryn could have hugged her, but she guessed that Romulan’s response would have been cooler than Tuvok’s. “How can I thank you?”

“Perhaps you would not mention my presence to my government. My fleet is currently searching for rogue comets. You understand.”

“I understand.”

For a moment, Kathryn’s eyes stung enough that she had to blink several times not to cry. Crying in front of the Romulans, now that would be a log entry.

Toreth stared at her, no doubt marvelling at the true weakness of humans now that she’d seen Kathryn on the verge of collapse.

“Admiral, there is every reason to anticipate success.”

“Thank you.”

“ _Khazara_ , out.”   


* * *

 

The Doctor dragged his fingertips over his patient’s forehead, wanting to confirm with his tactile sensors what his tricorder had already told him. The patient was sweating, which meant his hypothalamus was functioning again. His body was self-regulating. The virus was gone. Fried. Burned out of existence.

All along the row of patients, as far as his visual acuity could make out, over-heated skin was started to bead with sweat.

No sign of the virus. Finally, it had been exposed to heat long enough to denature and fall apart. Patient after patient came up clean. The Doctor pinned transporter tags, tiny isolinear reference points, on each patient who scanned as clean. Tapping his commbadge, he had nothing but relief and pride: both a welcome respite from concern.

“The virus has been eradicated. You are clear to drop the warp field. Tell all sickbays to stand by. We’re tagging patients for transport.”

Sparks hissed over the commlink and he wondered if the _Titan_ had been damaged. Someone spoke, then it disappeared into crackling.

“Admiral Janeway? Can anyone hear me?”

A gravelly voice replied. “I read you, Doctor. I will signal the other vessels to begin transport. We will coordinate from here.”

“Forgive me, where is ‘here’?”

“I am captain ImKoss of the _RutTIhr_. My communication system survived the warp bubble better than your _Titan_. We will relay your information.”

Unsure if the Klingon’s growl was positive or annoyed, the Doctor reigned in his frustration and continued the process of scanning and tagging patients. It was a difficult kind of triage. No one had been marked less than ‘urgent’. It was going to be a long few days before he returned to his new work on holographic rights.

“Thank you, Captain.”

The Doctor had moved down a metre, tagging two more patients as those he’d already tagged began to disappear. Klingon transporters were a deep red, the more familiar Starfleet models were blue, and the occasional gold transporter of a neutral vessel, took patients. He was ready to return to his work when the bright green of a Romulan transporter began to take critical patients.

“Romulans?” He didn’t have time to wonder. He had several hundred more patients to triage before he even thought about starting to treat them. Treating them would be a challenge that rose to his skillset. Organs were failing in many of the people he scanned. Kidneys and lungs were incredibly hard-hit by the virus. Eyesight would have to be restored, blood cleaned and rejuvenated; the resource drain of a few hundred people recovering from the virus would be immense. With thousands even the fleet Admiral Janeway had collected would be strained. Every hand that could hold a tissue regenerator was going to be needed if they didn’t want to lose anyone that they'd just tried to save.   


* * *

“If you have minimally medical facilities, only transport over patients tagged urgent. If your vessel can handle more desperate patients, take those marked critical. We will determine where people are once they are healthy.”

The message passed through the fleet, bouncing from ship to ship in unknown voices. Communications systems were having difficulties fleetwide, but the transporters were working without incident. Someone was looking out for them.

It wasn’t the best plan. It was barely even an organised plan. Transporters from thirty-one different vessels scooped the dying from Deep Space Five and brought them to medical supplies. The collapse of the symmetrical warp field had hit some vessels harder than others. Fleet wide communications were spotty and the Romulans and the Klingons couldn’t pass messages without snapping at each other.

And yet, patients were being treated. Reports of people in stable condition began to flood into the console, dulling the pain of the massive death toll with the light of hope. On the _Titan_ , hastily refit cargo bays housed the dead and Will had been busy assisting with the repair of the fried communications console so his engineering staff could busy themselves with the station.

Deep Space Five was only habitable in the central three levels and once the patients were well, they’d need to be returned to their quarters. He shot a grin at Deanna when she handed him a laserspanner.

“Been awhile since we were down and dirty, hasn’t it?”

She sat down next to him, holding a temperamental oscillator coil in her hands and turning it over, looking for the crack. “Will, we do have better things to do at the moment, don’t we?”

Deanna’s smirk suggested that he’d be rewarded for letting her turn his innocent comment into an innuendo. There was something to be said for victory sex.

That was it, really: the thing he’d been trying to put his finger on while he fixed his own ship like an ensign. Not victory sex, though he was fairly certain he and his wife weren’t the only ones to indulge, but victory. Yes, lives had been lost and there would be grief and memorials, but in the same moment, lives had been saved. Thousands of them: all saved by a communal effort that crossed political boundaries.

Was that how the virus had been defeated in its first appearance, eons ago? Had the Vulcans and the early Bajorans worked together to keep themselves from being wiped out? He doubted he’d ever hear the answer, but Will didn’t mind. Today, they’d won. The symmetrical warp bubble had been a pretty serious bluff, and aside form some damage to the more delicate systems, no vessel was too damaged to help.

“Romulans.” He shook his head, whistling in surprise. “Bet even you didn’t see that coming.”

“No.” Deanna returned his rueful look with a bright smile. “I think that’s the happiest I’ve been to see five Romulan warbirds appear out of nowhere.”

“Did you hear who Admiral Janeway said the fleet commander is?”

“How many Romulans do I know?”

“More than I do.” His wife’s curiosity washed over him and Will chuckled. “Remember Commander Toreth, who almost had you killed?”

“No…really?”

Her surprise was almost as much fun as finally fixing the damn comm panel. Will stood, brushing off his uniform.

“Vice Admiral Toreth. Admiral Janeway said she was remarkably good-humoured.”

“Maybe it’s a different Toreth.” Deanna feigned a scowl and accepted his hand up from the floor. “And our admiral?”

“Off to find Beverly.” Will checked the repair manifest and grabbed the engineering kit. There was another comm relay they could fix in the wall behind the con. Taking off the panel, he winced a little for Kathryn. “I tried to convince her to get some rest.”

“She’ll rest when she knows Beverly’s all right.” The slight hitch in Deanna’s voice would have revealed none of her concern to anyone else, but Will could feel it.

“And she is.”

“Of course she is.”

Rubbing her shoulder, Will brightened his smile for Deanna’s benefit. “She’s just fine. We’ll see. The admiral will have her in no time.”

Her lips curled into a playful smirk, though the heavy undercurrent of fear for Beverly’s safety behind Deanna’s eyes remained undiminished.

“She’ll be all right.” Will repeated, pulling his wife to his chest and holding her close while her arms embraced him back. “She’ll be just fine.”  


* * *

Eight ships. She’d beamed to eight ships without finding Beverly’s comm signal. It was on the last one, a Federation transport vessel, where a well-meaning transporter chief explained to her that he’d heard that the Romulans had taken many of the most critical patients. Their sickbays were massive.

Every ship had their shields down, protocols were lax, securities lowered. The transporter chief shrugged before he beamed her over.

“Guess we’re all friends today, Admiral.”

The transporter room faded away, blue, then white, then green as she rematerialised on the Romulan ship. The Romulan transporter operator didn’t even summon security.

Instead, she nodded, politely. “Admiral Janeway.”

No Romulan security guards rushed to her side. Kathryn lifted her tricorder, trying not to let her voice quiver with exhaustion.

“I’m trying to find a patient. One of the infected. Would it be all right if I scan your vessel for her comm signal?”

The technician watched her and then nodded. “You may do so.”

The tricorder scanned the Romulan ship, searching for Beverly’s commbadge. When it chirped in the negative, she straightened. She had to keep trying. Her disappointment was easily telegraphed to the Romulan

“She is not here.”

“She’s not.”

“The _Zharissh_ is our medical vessel. Would you like to search for her there?”

Maybe transporter chiefs were always helpful, no matter what species they were. Perhaps it was part of the job.

“Please.”

Another trip through the transporter, this time green light faded through white and back to green. The new transporter chief was male, and for some bizarre reason, he smiled when she appeared. Kathryn knew Romulans smiled. They had emotions; she knew that, but yet it was so familiar. It was the same smile Ensign Kim had back on _Voyager_ whenever she’d come home dirty and exhausted from an away mission.

“Welcome to the _Zharissh_ , Starfleet Admiral Janeway.”

Were all the Romulans so versed on Starfleet Admirals? Had her image made the internal Romulan briefings? Did they all watch her call for help? Maybe it was process of elimination. There was one female Starfleet admiral in this sector, and it had to be her.

“I am looking for a patient. May I scan for her commbadge?”

“Of course.”

Still no guards and the chief was still smiling. So much for Romulan ingrained xenophobia. If she was the first human he’d ever seen up close, perhaps he was simply amused by her confusion.

Her tricorder reported negative again. If it was a malfunction, she was going to jettison the device into space.

“If she’s not here, Admiral, may I assist you?”

Helpful Romulans. At this point, Kathryn would have taken the Borg’s assistance if it brought her to Beverly. Handing over her tricorder to the Romulan transporter chief, she clung to his console, letting it steady her failing balance.

If he noticed, the tech said nothing. He expertly worked his console, and Kathryn recognised an engineer with good hands when she saw one. She didn’t speak Romulan. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. There was little call for her to read Romulan on a daily basis. In fact, Kathryn couldn’t think of a situation that would have required her to read Romulan before but now she was staring at a console, waiting for someone else to explain it to her.

She hated waiting.

“This comm signal is on the _Khazara_ , our flagship. I will transport you there, Admiral.”

“Thank you.”

When Kathryn faded into the white of between vessels, she almost didn’t come back. Forcing herself to remain conscious, she finally found herself staring at a Romulan security officer alongside the technician.

“Admiral Janeway. I am Centurion N’val. I will escort you to sickbay.”

His disruptor was holstered and he didn’t seem ready to shoot her. Her day was only becoming stranger but at this point, she might have even trusted Q.

Centurion N’val must have had to slow his pace to walk with her but he did so professionally. He was tall, and exact the way Tuvok was. The Romulan ship was quiet. It must have suffered little damage because she didn’t see any emergency teams. She thought she would have recognised those, Romulan or not.

Other than the occasionally glance that lasted longer than normal, no one deviated from their routine. Kathryn was just another visiting dignitary, surely the Romulans must also have to deal with them.

Activity increased as they reached sickbay. She knew a D’deridex class warbird was technically larger than a Galaxy-class but she’d never actually been inside one before. If she had the energy, she would have been fascinated. The increase in personnel in the corridors had become a throng of activity. Medical technicians took bodies with covered grey sheets from sickbay towards what Kathryn guessed was the morgue. Steeling herself with the last dregs of her strength, she walked inside.

Like all busy sections, the trick with sickbay was simply to stay out of the way. Centurion N’val clung to her like a shadow, even pulling her back by the shoulders when she strayed into the way. She nodded her thanks, searching the visible patients for red hair. She thought she had Beverly for a moment, but the woman having her lungs drained had a the remains of a command red uniform beneath her bed.

They circled a corner, hugging the wall while Romulan medical staff worked around them like bees in a field of asters. Centurion N’val checked the Romulan equivalent of a tricorder in his hand and gestured left, deeper into sickbay. Most of the patients had been cut from their uniforms, and like a busy Starfleet sickbay, their clothing lay scattered on the floor beneath their beds and out of the way.

Someone had the presence of mind to keep the commbadges by the head of the biobeds by means of identification, and following N’val’s hand, Kathryn finally found a familiar tumble of red hair. Beverly lay on her back, her hands folded up by her head. Her face was away from Kathryn, but she knew it was her.

Her bare back was the centre of a Romulan medic’s attention. With steady hands, she finished implanting two small devices beneath the flesh of Beverly’s back.

The medic did not look up and Kathryn thought she didn’t even know they were there. When she spoke, Kathryn startled.

“These are nephritic support units, they will take over the function of the damage organs until they have time to repair themselves. Human anatomy is different than Romulan, but they were easy to reprogram to accommodate your iron-based blood.”

The medic caught N’val’s eye and he moved to help her flip Beverly back over so she faced the ceiling. Dark smudges, like bruises from impossible injuries, covered Beverly’s neck, shoulders and ally of her visible skin. Tiny scratches still oozed blood even though they were surrounded by the brown crusts of blood already dry. Straps of dark cloth covered Beverly’s legs and chest, leaving her stomach bare down to her navel.

“I am now implanting two hepatic support units. Her liver was less damaged than her kidneys, and should recover more quickly. I have already drained and repaired the damage to her lungs. The lower lobes may be weak for some time, but no synthetic units were implanted. I will include schematics for the units in her medical chart, so one of your Federation doctors can remove them when her organs recover. It is also possible that she will need to retain them indefinitely”

Using the same device that had pierced Beverly’s back, the Romulan doctor implanted two small, round devices that flashed once before she buried them deep in Beverly’s abdomen.

“There is also damage to the bone marrow and spleen. Her eyes are completely covered with the characteristic cataract membrane. Much of her blood was toxic beyond the point of cleansing and the damage to her skin you see is from the breakdown of her connective tissues. I regret I do not now how time to heal it. One of the medical officers will return with a dermal regenerator.”

The Romulan medic looked up just long enough to meet Kathryn’s eyes. Hers were dark and alien, but Kathryn still recognised the compassion that belonged to all doctors.

“You may remain if you do not interfere with her treatment.” She returned to the work of opening Beverly’s eyes and carefully skimming the cataract with a brilliant violet laser field. Beverly’s eyes were rolled back in her head, but the whites were white again, instead of a dull, creamy grey, when the doctor had finished. She shut Beverly’s eyelids with practised gentleness.

Kathryn’s voice barely functioned. Her throat was so tight that her breath didn’t seem to be getting into her lungs at all.

“Thank you.”

The Romulan doctor nodded cordially. “With time, she will make a full recovery. She has great strength of will. Many others with this level of viral damage did not survive.”

Centurion N’val left with the doctor, perhaps being in sickbay was enough to keep an eye on Kathryn.

Beverly’s hands lay at her sides, skin almost too pale to be living flesh. One of the numerous skin contusions covered two of her knuckles and part of the back of her hand. Kathryn touched her, afraid that her fingers would break the illusion and send Beverly away like a soap bubble. Her skin was dry and cool, but Beverly’s hands were always cool.

“Your hands are cold, again, and I hate to think of your feet.” When her touch didn’t further damage Beverly’s skin, Kathryn lifted her hand, holding it tight between both of her own.

“I should have know you’d be stubborn enough to wait for me and I want you to know that I fully intend to blame your flair for the dramatic for your goodbye letter. It was terribly romantic you know. All that talk of growing old together.” Tears she wasn’t even aware of beginning ran hot down her face.

“I won’t even pretend I know what to say, or that you really thought for a moment I could stay on Earth and wait to hear what had happened to you. I think the one thing the damn cat and I have in common is that we have to be everywhere and know everything that’s going on.

“Before you berate me for leaving him, Da Vinci is all right. He has furry friends at Alynna’s and she promised to make sure he was spoiled to your satisfaction.”

Wiping her eyes against her sleeve, Kathryn lost the battle she’d been fighting for too many sleepless hours. Crying in a Romulan sickbay was another thing to add to the list that she’d never suspected she’d do.

“I don’t have the strength for this. Losing you, thinking about losing you…I haven’t been that empty in years and I can’t, I won’t go through any more of this existence without you, so we’re in that place again. That place where neither of us wants to discuss what comes next, nor are we willing to stay where we are.

“I don’t know if we lose people so we understand how short life is, or if things just happen. People we love die and then we fall in love again and we…well, we don’t think we have anything left to risk. That it’s all gone. That we’re empty, but I’m not empty with you. With you I’m full. There’s hope and joy and this warmth. I can’t know how long we could have, but I want you.

“If you and I have an instant, if we have seventy more years. I want you. I think that’s marriage, Beverly, and if you were awake, I’d have to say something much more eloquent and hope you’d say yes. Except, I don’t think I’d have to hope. I _know_ , and that’s simultaneously the most wonderful and terrifying thing.”

Once Kathryn was crying hard enough, the foreign lighting, the golden tint to the walls in sickbay and the acrid smell of surgical lasers were all normal.

“Of course, if you can hear me, I’m going to point out now that it’s been forty hours or forty-three or worse since I’ve slept and all of this romantic babble is extreme sleep deprivation.”

Rubbing her hands on the back of her hand again, Kathryn shifted so she could kiss Beverly’s forehead.

“I love you and the rest can wait until you wake up. Just don’t yell at me for being here. Your Romulan counterpart said I could stay and you have to listen to her. Familial ties of the medical family. Also, I’m behaving myself. I haven’t argued with anyone."

She clarified after a moment. “Anyone on this ship.”


	10. Chapter 10

Casualty reports filled his desk for the first time since the end of the war. Jean-Luc Picard's tea had gone cold while he read the biographies of the officers dead of the tevelalam ak virus brought to Deep Space Five by the _SuHn'Nos_. Many of them had been young, the virus had spared no one, and it seemed to have worked especially hard to destroy young, healthy lives.

He knew intellectually that there were some things in the universe that had no logic behind them, and though they contained no malice or conscious thought, they were cruel and unnecessarily destructive. There was no compassion in nature, and the universe was without meaning or reason. The poet in him reminded him that the darkness of the universe was why those who lived in it sought the light.

He finished the last death certificate from sickbay and stood, cold tea in his hand. He'd barely reached the replicator when his comm chirped.

"Captain Picard, Captain Riker wishes to speak with you."

"Put him through, Number One."

Seemingly nonplussed by looking out at Jean-Luc's empty chair, Will spoke without hesitation.

"Captain, the Romulan Vice Admiral brought along the historical team that found the reference to our deadly viral outbreak in the ancient Imperial database. I thought I'd give you first shot at them."

"The Romulan historical team is here and willing to meet and share information?"

"They're quite willing. You may beam over to the Romulan flagship or they will come to you."

The _Enterprise_ was still conducting repairs of their entire propulsion system, perhaps he would be better served if he took up the Romulan's offer to host.

"Worf won't let me leave without a security escort."

Will chuckled. Over protective first officers were now his problem too, not only Jean-Luc's.

"She suggested two security guards, to see to your safety."

With a fresh cup of tea, Jean-Luc settled down in front of his former first officer. "Well, someone's mission to Romulus must have made quite an impression."

Will shook his head. "I get the impression that her openness is her own form of rebellion. Vice Admiral or not, she hasn't long been free of the Tal Shiar, being honest with us is the ultimate slap in the face to their memory."

"A rebellious Romulan history buff." Jean-Luc raised his eyebrows and grinned. "I shall have to meet this Vice Admiral."

"Toreth."

Jean-Luc pondered the name for a moment. It sounded familiar but surely...

"Not that same Toreth, Commander Toreth of the _Khazara_?" He remembered her from Deanna's report. She'd been the commander his former counsellor had faced off in order to save a party of dissidents while she'd been disguised as a Romulan against her will.

"Looks like she got promoted."

"Indeed." Jean-Luc indulged himself with a dry chuckle. "Please, send her my acceptance. I'll beam over at her convenience."

"You'll have to tell me all about it."

Before shutting the channel, Jean-Luc indulged his curiosity. He'd assumed that no news was the best news when it came to Beverly, but no one seemed to know where or, more importantly, how she was. "Will, is Admiral Janeway with Beverly? Is she all right?"

Snapping his fingers, Will winced in apology. "Right. Sorry. Admiral Janeway went to find Beverly right after the station was cleared. She reported in that Beverly is recovering. Oddly enough, she's also on the Romulan flagship. The Romulans have been dealing with a good deal of the critical patients."

"And she's all right?"

"Seems like it. Most of the cases in my sickbay need some kind of kidney or lung support, but my CMO thinks it'll be temporary for most. I imagine Beverly's in a similar position."

"And Admiral Janeway is with her?"

"Couldn't keep her here."

Jean-Luc shared a smile with his former first officer. "Good." Beverly was nearly a sister to both of them, and if she was recovering and safe with the woman she loved, then there was cause for celebration.  


* * *

 

Her mouth still tasted of blood. The dry, metallic taste coated her tongue and clenched her throat. She didn't know how to stop it. If she'd ever be able to make it stop, but perhaps if she could open her eyes, she could find something. Somewhere. Where ever she was.

Her eyes opened slowly, and focused even slower. Beverly blinked several times, marvelling and the golden lights in the ceiling before it occurred to her that she saw. It wasn't just light she saw, as she had before, but detailing in the dark metal ceiling, and the line of a air vent running along the side of the wall. Turning her head, she found shapes that slowly coalesced into forms. Humanoid forms that moved around her with familiar purpose.

Sickbay. She was in a sickbay. The forms above her wore dark uniforms of an unfamiliar cut. Aliens? At the last moment unknown aliens had arrived to save them? Maybe she needed to put more thought into the idea that she was dead.

One of the medical staff passed close to her and her eyesight improved enough to notice he was a familiar alien race after all. He was Romulan.

The Romulans? How could they be behind this? Why would they have saved her?

"You are conscious." The voice on her left was female and calm, like a doctor. Her doctor, most likely.

Beverly tried to speak, but her voice failed her utterly. Her strangled croak was progress. She'd barely managed that before she'd passed out in the laboratory.

"Drink. Spit it out if you cannot swallow." Strong hands lifted her head, and held a cup to her lips. To Beverly's shock, she remembered how to drink ad water ran down her throat, clearing some of the metallic taste of blood.

With a few swallows down in her stomach, Beverly tried again. "Who?"

"The Imperial Romulan warbird _Khazara_. We detected your distress signal and my commander decided to assist you."

"Thank your commander."

"I will pass along your sentiment." The Romulan doctor had kinder eyes than Beverly had before seen in her species. "You are also a doctor?"

"Yes." Being Head of Starfleet Medical seemed unimportant now; what mattered was that the virus had been eradicated.

"May I update you on your condition?"

"Please."

"I have implanted four synthetic organ support units into your abdominal cavity. Two nephritic supports, and two hepatic supports. You liver should recover in the next few weeks, but your kidneys make take months to fully regenerate. I have stimulated the formation of new tissue as much as I could, but they were severely damaged."

Beverly had known that. She nodded weakly, marvelling at the way the motion caused her no pain.

"Your lungs were also affected, though they will heal without biomechanical support. Your connective tissues, your dermis and small capillaries suffered severe degradation, as well as your bone marrow and spleen. You are lucky the Empire requires us to know so much of your physiology."

Beverly's lips twisted, feebly remembering how to smile. "Very lucky."

"Your body suffered extensive damage."

"Stimulants. I had to find the answer."

"That would explain the condition of your liver and spleen." The Romulan doctor raised her eyebrows, then nodded, as if agreeing. "I would have done the same. It will take you some time to recover. Do not over exert yourself."

"Yes, Doctor."

The Romulan paused, trying to plan her next few words. "You should not carry offspring until your kidneys have had time to fully regenerate. I am sorry."

"No, no. Thank you. You saved my life. I was not planning on..." Beverly trailed off. The thought had crossed her mind, and lying to the Romulan doctor who's name she didn't even know, didn't seem important. "My partner will carry the child."

For some reason, that brought a bright smile to the Romulan's face. "Good."

She guided Beverly's hand, moving the limb Beverly had forgotten she had until it rested on a familiar head buried in her side. Sitting up slightly, Beverly stretched her neck and saw Kathryn, fast asleep in a chair next to the biobed. Her head was tucked up against Beverly's naked side, and the puffiness around her eyes was still there, even in sleep.

"Kathryn."

"She arrived shortly after I finished your treatment. It seemed cruel to ask her to leave."

"Thank you." Beverly ran clumsy fingers over Kathryn's soft hair, and they slowly returned to usefulness. Eventually she had the dexterity to roll Kathryn's hair between her fingertips.

"Thank you."

"Rest. One of my nurses will bring you more water and a nutrient drink. I know the taste is bland, but--"

Beverly nodded, resting her eyes for a moment. "I'll drink it."

"Perhaps we will get along better than I thought, Doctor."

"Beverly."

The Romulan tried the name on her lips, then smiled. "Veddra."  


* * *

  
"Good morning, Captain." Tom Paris sauntered out of his chair and handed Chakotay a PADD of information. "The weather in the Alpha Quadrant today is clear with a chance of new orders."

"Oh?" Chakotay set down his coffee, white with two sugars, and looked at the PADD. Instead of the mapping mission of the Cyrissil Cluster, they were being diverted to the relief effort on Deep Space Five.

"Finally."

"I thought that would cheer you up, Sir." Tom settled back into his chair and let Chakotay finish reading.

"The death toll went as high as eighteen hundred?"

Tom nodded, frowning. "No one's seen anything like that virus for a long time. If so many ships hadn't been in the area..."

"Romulans?" Harry's voice cut through the bridge. "Five Romulan warbirds crossed the Neutral Zone to help the Admiral Janeway?"

Tom chuckled. He'd been waiting for everyone else to get that far in the note. "She does occasionally have that knack with people. Apparently even Romulans can't say no to her."

"Apparently so." Chakotay continued reading, then scanned the casualty list desperately for Beverly's name.

Seeing his sudden change in demeanour, Tom reached for his shoulder. "Doctor Crusher is all right. Tuvok sent us a subspace message. The Admiral is fine, so is Doctor Crusher. The latter hasn't been released from sickbay yet, but Tuvok said her prognosis was good."

"It was kind of him to let us know."

"He knows we worry."

And they did, collectively. B'Elanna, Tom, Harry and Chakotay had been in the mess hall just last night, hoping that both of them had been spared. Once the epidemic spread on the station, it had seemed impossible that anyone would survive. He'd suspected Kathryn would come up with something, and knowing she had lifted a weight from his chest.

"He humours our emotional fallacies." Tom's smile softened the comment and Chakotay felt his affection for their logical friend.

Knowing someone so dear to Kathryn's heart, and his own, had been in such great danger had weighed on all of them, and knowing she was safe, and that Kathryn was with her, his day couldn't have begun better.

"Helm, alter course to sector six-two-four, Deep Space Five. Warp eight."

"Romulans."

Tom shrugged. "I can't wait to hear that story. I've always wanted to get my hands on the helm of a Romulan ship. Those D'deridex-class warbirds are some of the biggest ships out there. Yet, you can still corner them in the time it would take to turn a Galaxy-class. _Voyager_ would still beat both of them, but...it would be fun to try."

"I think they'll be gone by the time we arrive."

Tom drew out his sigh. "I know. Can't hurt to dream, can it?"

"Tuvok might have some scans you can look at." Harry's optimism sounded cheerful, but Chakotay knew teasing when he heard it.

"Now you're just trying to placate me." Tom rolled his eyes and then glanced back at Harry. "You can't tell me you've never wanted to be on a Romulan ship."

"No, not really."

Tom made another sound of disbelief and returned to extolling the virtues of a number of terrifying alien vessels, including Borg spheres and the bioships of Species 8472.

Chakotay settled back in his chair, mentally preparing his ship for the relief effort. He'd have a plan to write later, once they were closer, for the moment, he intended to enjoy the moment of knowing the people he loved were safe.  


* * *

 

"Beverly."

"Don't Beverly me." Even though she teetered on her feet, she was stubborn, and doubly determined to stand. "I can do this."

The Romulan doctor, Veddra, who had been treating her since she arrived, stood back and watched. When Kathryn looked to her for help, she shook her head once and rolled her eyes. "Doctors."

Beverly stared down at her hands, both of them wrapped tightly around the edge of the edge bed for balance. "There's no medical reason I can't stand."

"Other than the damage to your muscle tissues."

"Out of all the damage to my body, my muscle tissue is one of the last systems I'm worrying about. "

Veddra intervened when Kathryn looked at her desperately. "She can't do any real damage to her muscles, if she managed to fall and hit something sharp, especially near her implants, then I'd be upset."

"Upset meaning restraints?"

"Sedatives, restraints, bribery." Veddra tilted her head to the side, something that seemed to pass for a shrug. "Threats of the ghosts of the Tal Shiar."

Beverly's half-chuckle was worth the aggravation of her trying to walk. Mentally at least, she was well on the way to recovery. When Kathryn woke up on the biobed next to her, apparently courtesy of some very stealthy Romulan orderlies, Beverly had been smiling.

Her lips had still been stained with blood. The fragile skin still cracked whenever it was stretched, but her eyes were hers again. She was there, really there, even if she was a dreadfully stubborn woman who seemed bound to put herself back on that biobed. It was entirely unfair that Kathryn had fallen for her.

"Kathryn."

Beverly wanted her; that meant she had to stop staring in disapproval, arms crossed over her chest and rush over to take Beverly's outstretched hand. Which she did, because she was far too soft for her own good and she couldn't maintain her distance.

"Don't push yourself."

"I'm not pushing."

"You are pushing. Trust me. If our positions were reversed, you'd have me sedated by now."

Letting go of the bed, Beverly grabbed Kathryn's shoulder with her other hand, using her for balance. Looking straight into Kathryn's eyes, she shivered, struggling with some deep emotion.

"I don't know if I could have handled our positions being reversed."

Steadying herself over her feet, Kathryn squared her small form. "You would have saved me. I have no doubt."

Beverly nuzzled her cheek, touching her just long enough to stop herself from crying. Both of them had been wrecks, teetering on the verge of tears since they'd been reunited. Not that either of them would admit it, and in the quietest part of her heart, she enjoyed it. It was cathartic: all the naked emotion flowing between them was something they needed.

Sliding her hand through Beverly's hair, Kathryn held firm. "Why are you rushing this. You're all right. It doesn't matter if you leave sickbay today, or tomorrow, or the day after..."

Beverly released her shoulder, finding her feet in an impressive display of strength. "What if there's something I want today, and I don't want to wait for tomorrow?"

"You don't trust your research to the Romulans, _Voyager's_ EMH and Doctor Ree?" The joke made Beverly smirk just a little.

"Kathryn, I haven't thought about research since I woke up with your head under my hand."

Kathryn's heart thudded in her chest, echoing up into her ears like thunder. She should say something witty, something profound or romantic. All she managed was "oh?"

"You'll have to forgive for failing tradition. Going to one knew would be the end of my balance." Beverly caught Kathryn's chin, lifting her eyes when she tried to look down. "Marry me."

"Beverly--"

"I know you've had terrible luck with engagements, and I didn't want it to last any longer than it had to."

Kathryn's traitorous eyes were damp again and they stung as she held Beverly's gaze.

"I think even I could make it through a day."

"I don't want you to have to."

Kathryn swallowed, kissing Beverly's cheek and holding her far tighter than she ought. "Then yes."

"Yes?"

Giggling just a little, Kathryn kissed Beverly quickly, before she could tease her further.

"Yes, but you have to explain to my mother why she couldn't be here. I doubt she'd listen to any explanation from me."

* * *

 

"With the power invested in me by the United Federation of Planets and with due respect to the Great Klingon and Romulan Empires, I now pronounce you, Kathryn Elizabeth Janeway, and you, Beverly Cheryl Crusher, wed, with all the rights, privileges and responsibilities therein."

Tuvok raised an eyebrow at Kathryn's side. "A less than traditional benediction."

Smiling the bright grin of the long-suffering from her place just behind Beverly, Deanna nodded. "I can't trust him with anything."

The recently cleared promenade on Deep Space Five was packed with grey and black Starfleet uniforms, as well as a few armoured Klingons, and a small delegation of Romulan personnel. Dress uniforms had been in short supply, and with Admiral Jellico still recovering, Will had volunteered to perform the ceremony. Federation civil ceremonies were brief, and Will's flair for the dramatic had made it cheerful.

They all needed a chance to relax, to be merely people once more instead of the heroes facing incredible odds. News of Beverly and Kathryn's wedding, however impromptu, had spread and even those who knew them by reputation only, were pleased to have the break from the business of death.

It was a brief respite, a few hours stolen from the necessary work of healing the sick, and repairing the damaged vessels. Deanna watched without looking away, as Will allowed the traditional kiss to go on far longer than usual.

Tuvok continued to look on, and Deanna laughed.

"Our captain is incorrigible, isn't he?"

"I believe that adjective is appropriate." Tuvok inclined his head, and clapped with the rest of the assembled when Kathryn finally stopped kissing her new wife. "Under the circumstances, I believe some leeway is allowed."

Deanna patted his shoulder, as close to an embrace as one got with a Vulcan, and let the feelings of the crowd wash over her. Captain Picard had graciously donated part of his private stock, and not to be outdone, the other Federation captains, as well as the Klingon and Romulan commanders had followed suit. The already overworked medical staff would have their hands full in the morning, but treating hangovers would be a welcome break from autopsies.

Her mother would have approved, of course. Betazoids believed in any excuse to celebrate life, even life at its most banal was to be honoured, and weddings, even weddings with clothing, were something she approved of greatly.

Finding Will in the crowd as it swarmed the newlyweds and the libations, Deanna wrapped her arms tightly around him and kissed him.

"Your first wedding."

"The Head of Starfleet Medical and an admiral no less." Will's arm remained firmly around her back as Jean-Luc approached them.

"I don't know how you'll follow this one up, Will."

"I'm sure I'll find a way."

"That does seem to be your way."

Through the crowd, Worf's head was visible with the Klingon's, laughing over a barrel of blood wine. On the other side of the promenade, as far as possible from the Klingons, the Romulans also seemed to be enjoying themselves. Though the Tal Shiar agents of the past were probably reeling in their urns, it seemed right.

Passing both of them a glass of wine, Jean-Luc surveyed the scene with a diplomat's eye. "The Emergency Relief Act of 2379 seems to be passing the Federation Senate, and the Romulan Star Empire has decided to formally maintain negotiations with us in the hopes of a mutually beneficial treaty."

Tuvok inclined his head slightly, a Vulcan nod of approval. "The Romulans have been surprisingly helpful. Their organ support units are slightly more efficient than our own, and require less energy to replicate."

"Captain, your service was charming." Captain Chakotay arrived through the crowd, with most of his senior staff behind him.

Will beamed, offering a hand to the other captain. "Thank you."

Chakotay shook it firmly, radiating a calm good humour that Deanna immediately liked.

"Captain Riker, Captain Picard, Counsellor Troi, I'd like you to meet my first officer, Commander Tom Paris, my Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander B'Elanna Torres, their daughter Miral, and my Security Chief, Lieutenant Commander Harry Kim."

Kim seemed a little starstruck by the legendary Captain Picard, and even slightly so with Will. Paris' face was permanently set in a boyish smile and his thoughts were a pleasant mixture of love for his family and pleasure at his former captain's wedding. The half-Klingon engineer shook their hands last, meeting all of their eyes with respect.

"We heard a few stories of your time on the _Enterprise_ just a few weeks ago."

"None of them good." Paris added, beaming.

"All of them true." Will agreed, lifting his glass.

"Did you get something to drink?" Jean-Luc, always a perfect host, gestured at the table piled high with drink and the barrels of bloodwine beside it. "The captain of the _Nairobi_ had a few exquisite bottles of Aldeberan whiskey that you might be able to get a taste of if you hurry."

"Bloodwine for you, dearest?" Paris asked, passing Torres their daughter.

"Anything but." She winced and shook her head as he disappeared. "I can't stand the stuff."

Jean-Luc smiled at the little girl, who seemed quite taken with him and had been following him with her eyes. "I actually don't mind it, once I get past the assault on the nose, it's quite robust."

"That's one word for it." Torres shifted her daughter, who'd just dropped the stuffed puppy she'd been clutching and seemed about to wail for its return. "Captain, would you?"

Three captains were around her, but Jean-Luc was the one who ended up with the child. Deanna smirked as the little girl took hold of his collar, and Will's grin could not have been brighter. Even Chakotay seemed amused.

Torres retrieved the toy and handed it to her daughter, who'd found new fascination in Jean-Luc's commbadge and seemed quite determined to test its mineral content by gnawing on it.

"I'm sorry, Captain."

"She's quite intelligent, isn't she?"

Jean-Luc was enamoured, and Deanna had to bit her lip to keep from laughing. Will shared her amusement, but not her control and chuckled.

"Just enough to get herself into trouble whenever we're not looking."

"She's the first toddler to escape the nursery on her own." Chakotay offered, accepting a tumbler from Paris as he returned. A dark blue liquid clung to the sides of the glass. Chakotay sniffed it, and then raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Do I even want to ask?"

"Best not too." Paris handed his wife more of the same dark beverage. She seemed less apprehensive and took a sip. The jolt of surprise that ran through her almost made Deanna jump.

"What is this?"

Paris shrugged and swirled his. "Got it from the Romulans."

Kim frowned at the glass. "I thought Romulan ale was bright blue."

Will, of course, was well versed in the beverage. "Ah, but they don't just have ale on Romulus, this-" he reached for Harry's untouched glass and sniffed it, then grinned. "This is Romulan winter cider."

Kim wasn't convinced. "Winter cider?"

"It was, once, something much like an apple on Romulan. Big, blue fruit. Supposed to be delicious."

Paris and Kim continued to talk to Will about the wonders of various alcoholic beverages, with Will and Paris doing most of the talking and Kim listening in surprise and occasional wonder.

Seven of Nine approached with a glass in hand and a look of apprehension.

"Nice to see you too, Seven." Torres teased her, sipping her Romulan winter cider.

"I have been requested to 'mingle'. I believe that requires I engage in conversation with people I do not know. I am most pleased to see you, Commander Torres, as well as you, Captain Chakotay."

"Ranks aren't important while you are mingling, Seven." Chakotay assured her, taking a moment to hug her hello. "You look well."

"I have been functioning adequately."

Deanna watched the small talk with amusement, graining equal pleasure from the way Jean-Luc expertly distracted Miral by pointing out various things of interest around the room. His enthusiasm was appreciated by the toddler, who clung contentedly to his neck with one arm.

When it was her turn to speak, she smiled warmly at the young woman. "Did you like the wedding?"

"It was pleasant. Captain Riker's choice of blessing was not traditional."

Will chuckled and winked at her. "Thank you."

"I am-" Seven paused and Deanna reached for her emotions. It was difficult for the young woman to articulate what she was trying to say; her heart was in the right place. "I am very pleased for Admiral Janeway and Doctor Crusher."

"Doctor Janeway," Tuvok corrected. "I believe the former Doctor Crusher voiced her decision to take Admiral Janeway's surname while we were preparing for their wedding. She mentioned that it seemed appropriate."

"What did the admiral think?" Will asked, curious.

"She was emotionally affected by the decision."

Deanna remembered now. She'd been rather distracted by the idea that Beverly had so abruptly and absolutely decided to marry Kathryn. When they'd briefly discussed surnames, Kathryn had nearly been in tears.

"It's a sign of affection, a gesture of forming a new family. Not every couple does, but those who do make the choice because it means something to them."

She lifted her glass and smiled over it towards Beverly and Kathryn, through the steady crowd of well wishers. Kathryn's hand was around Beverly's waist and she showed no sign of letting go.

"And we wish them well." Chakotay lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. "In everything."  


* * *

 

"Admiral Janeway?"

Jean-Luc appeared behind her in the corridor, startling her out of her thoughts. Kathryn had, more so than usual, an unending list of things to do. There were vessels to repair, parts requisitions, the enormous and terrifying in its complexity: pile of paperwork required to have Romulans on board Federation vessels and stations.

She was just coming up from the engine room of the _Enterprise_ , where Seven of Nine and Commander La Forge had been explaining what the nacelles would need to return to normal running, and what recommendations they were going to make to the Starfleet Corps of Engineers. Prepared to sign off on whatever they put in front of her, she had been pleasant distracted by the excitement they both had for the specifications of the ship. Engineers could be so charming when they were excited.

Jean-Luc fell in step beside her, smiling in welcome. "Enjoying your walk?"

"I am."

Returning his smile was easy, Kathryn had been in the best mood of recent memory since the wedding. Even with the problems of dealing with that kind of loss of life, and the necessarily memorials, she had been unable to contain her joy. Beverly was hers, and she belonged to Beverly right back.

"I'm enjoying everything today, if I'm honest."

"As well you should." Jean-Luc waved her politely in front of him into a turbolift. "It's splendid to see you both so happy, and the wedding was deeply enjoyable. Allow me extend my congratulations again."

"Thank you. I heard you made a friend in Miral Paris."

Jean-Luc chuckled and glanced at his hands. "She is a very sweet child."

"That she is."

The turbolift hummed alone for a moment, neither of them speaking. It was a comfortable, companionable silence, and Kathryn remembered the friendly affection with which Beverly always spoke of Jean-Luc Picard. He was a good man, an excellent captain and they were both fortunate to have his support. Turning, ready to tell him something to that effect, Kathryn stopped when he spoke instead.

"Speaking of children," he paused, swallowing and lifting his gaze from his hands. "I've agreed to Beverly's request."

Beverly's request for what? What had Beverly asked for? What was Kathryn missing? It was something important; something that would make Jean-Luc so suddenly shy.

"Oh." Her eyebrows shot straight up and she blushed. Not the soft, delicate blush of mature surprise, but the deep red, hot, completely consuming blush of much younger years.

She had to say something else. "Thank you." That was a start. "That means a great deal to both of us."

Jean-Luc and Chakotay were their top two choices to father their children. Both of them were single, intelligent, attractive, healthy, and close enough to them that they could trust the experience to be a positive one. Chakotay had expressed his doubts that he would ever have children, and what tiny trace of regret Kathryn heard, she thought could be erased by his taking part in the life of a child he would share with them.

Beverly had known Jean-Luc for decades. She was aware that never having a child was one of the few regrets of his life, and she knew being part of a new life, even one that was not his to raise, would mean much to him. He'd be an excellent uncle, both there when they needed him and comfortable enough with their parenting to let things be. He was an ideal father.

It was a deeply personal choice, and Kathryn could read the gravity of it in his eyes. He had such expressive eyes. Would their child share them? Genetically, a child she had with someone with Jean-Luc's hazel eyes had a good chance of hazel or green eyes. Phoebe had green eyes. She liked green eyes.

He reached for her shoulder, touching her with great gentleness. "I hope I--"

"Oh no. Jean-Luc, I'm very touched. Incredibly so, that you'd do this for us, I just." In a moment of clarity, Kathryn realised that having a child with Beverly, mixing her genes with his, implied a gigantic amount of trust on all their parts. She trusted him; she could talk to him.

"I thought she'd go first."

There was logic in that. Beverly was older; she'd had a child before. Letting Kathryn watch a pregnancy up close before she engaged in one of her own made sense. She'd planned it to be that way.

Now that option was gone. Beverly needed a year to heal around her implants and have them removed. She couldn't have a child now, and they both wanted one very much. They'd talked about it, purely in the hypothetical of course, but they wanted a child as soon as they could have one. Kathryn had already put it off for so long, and Beverly wanted to be a mother again, and had for some time.

The turbolift stopped abruptly, dumping them out on deck eight: Jean-Luc's destination. KAthryn hadn't voiced hers.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

She could have gone for something much stronger, but tea might calm her nerves.

"Yes."

Nudging her back, Jean-Luc led the way. Once seated on the sofa in his expansive, tastefully decorated quarters, Kathryn stared down at her tea and still sat lost for words.

"I was dumbfounded when she asked." His hesitation drew up her gaze.

"Oh?"

"Completely."

Kathryn had to chuckle, however weakly. "You're a well decorated, intelligent, attractive Starfleet Captain with an extensive list of accomplishments. Who wouldn't want your genes in their child, given the opportunity?"

Now he flushed, just enough to be modest. "It is not every day that one is asked."

"Beverly mentioned you first, when we discussed the idea. Starfleet Medical has catalogues of donors of course, but we know you. Our child could know you, and know you were her biological father. That would mean a good deal to both of us, not to mention the child. You wouldn't be donor five-eight-five, you'd be a face and a name, and someone we could have over for birthdays and graduations."

He nearly choked on his tea. "You'd want me there?"

"Of course we would. That's the point of having someone we know. You can be there, with us, and we'll... parent, somehow. I don't know, really. Parenting is Beverly's area of expertise." She gulped her tea, counting on the bitter liquid to stop her from digging a bigger hole.

"Beverly's a wonderful mother."

"No pressure there." Kathryn muttered into her tea.

"Kathryn--"

"I know. I know. Parenting is something you learn by doing, each child is different for the parents and the child, having a baby is a unique and beautiful experience."

Jean-Luc patted her hand. "That you thought you'd be on the other side of."

"Yes."

"You could wait."

Shaking her head, Kathryn turned her hand up so her fingers met his. She needed something to hold and his hand slipped into hers with warmth and caring.

"We- I- don't want to."

"You'll be incredible parents, Kathryn. I have every faith in both of you." Squeezing her hand, he smiled. "You'll see."

Looking away just for a moment, Kathryn sighed down into her cup before she looked at him. "You might need to remind me."

"I'm sure Beverly will, but I'm quite able of reiterating the fact."

Kathryn set down her tea and wrapped his hand in both of hers. "Thank you, Jean-Luc, for this, for your genes, for the tea, everything. You've been such a good friend to Beverly, and to me and now..."

"Now you're going to go home and have a child with your wife." Jean-Luc clasped her smaller hand in his, entwining them completely together. "I envy you that adventure, Kathryn, and I could not be more grateful to be asked to share this small part of that with you both."  


* * *

 

For two people who had left with very little baggage, they returned with their two suitcases, and several crates shipped via freight. They'd been stacked neatly in the living room when they'd arrived home.

Kathryn claimed to have little interest in shopping, but, once she'd been free on Andoria, with little to do and plenty of unspent credits, Kathryn had actually enjoyed herself. The sculptures were very beautiful. Though the crystalline pieces of swirling colour Kathryn had surprisingly decided to be buy were lovely and delicate in appearance, they were surprisingly sturdy, and Beverly approved.

With the Maestro around, and Kathryn's unmentioned surprise, sturdy was a good thing.

There was nothing in her bag other than uniforms and the three civilian outfits she'd bought on Andor, so Beverly dumped the whole thing into the laundry while Kathryn smirked from the other side of the room.

"Classy."

"I thought you'd approve."

Kathryn's methods of doing laundry ranged from waiting until Beverly did it for her, to wearing her uniform into the sonic shower, to, and these were the rarest of occasions, taking the time and energy to fold her things herself. Her mother was in those moments, and Beverly found it adorable. Not that it happened very often; it was still cute.

"It's going to take us hours to put all of this away. Did we really buy all of this stuff?"

Kathryn went straight to the coffee pot on the counter near the replicator and replicated not the coffee itself, but the component parts so she could watch it brew. Her one complaint about the beautiful resort on Andor was that it had only had passable coffee. Beverly had found it delicious, but she was still coasting on the sensory high of surviving a plague and the emotional one of being married, everything had an extra level of wonder to it.

"I think you bought cases two, three and eight, I bought case four, and we bought the other five together." Lifting the first case and placing it on the coffee table to open, Beverly perched on the sofa.

"Do I still need to tell you to take it easy?"

Rolling her eyes, Beverly shook her head. "First of all, I'm opening a box, that's hardly running a marathon, second, no, it's been more than six weeks since I had my organs enhanced-"

"Replaced with glowing Romulan time bombs-"

Laughing, Beverly tossed a chunk of packing fibre towards Kathryn and dug into the box. Her support units did glow, faintly. In the full dark of their bedroom at the resort, when she was naked, and if Kathryn was close enough, the nephritic support units glowed faintly green with each pulse of her heart, and the two hepatic units were pale pink, and went in tandem. Kathryn did have to be incredibly close to her skin to see it, and she'd made a observing them as often as possible.

It was a minor miracle they'd done any shopping at all, or seen the mountains, for all the time they spent in bed. Part of Kathryn's concerns for Beverly's health, her excuse for checking the implants, were mildly justified. Beverly hadn't had the pulmonary or cardiovascular strength for more than a leisurely walk through the fabled mountains surrounding Harbourtown. Her lungs were improving steadily and her skin had lost the bruises weeks ago but the lingering traces were still there.

Much as she'd been acutely aware of her leg after the incident on Minos, Beverly was overly sensitive to the way her eyes worked the first time she opened them each morning, and especially grateful that her fingers were nimble once more. Running marathons would come later. She'd have to start with calmer workouts and ease herself back up, but she'd have time. Everything would be fine.

Kathryn sniffed her coffee, then stared at it with the same expression Da Vinci used for an empty food dish. Leaving the vases Beverly had great plans for in their crate, she pulled Kathryn's head into her lap instead, then kissed her forehead.

"What's wrong with your coffee?"

"It went stale while we were gone."

Coffee packed in stasis units, as Kathryn's was, had no chance of going stale. That logic would be entirely unappreciated, so Beverly left it unmentioned.

"Want to beam down to Matagalpa and get more?"

"No, no." A wistful glance crossed Kathryn's face, but she shook her head. "We just got home."

"Maybe someone will send us coffee as a wedding present."

That perked Kathryn up, and she pulled Beverly's face down to kiss her. "Do you really think so?"

"If I was buying something for us, it would be the first thing on my list, because you love it so and I'll need it to keep up with you."

Kathryn rolled to her side, keeping her head in Beverly's lap as she curled up on the sofa. "I'm not so terrible."

"Not at all, but your reputation leaves out little things."

Idly stroking Kathryn's hair, Beverly wondered when her wife would realise she'd been successful. Jean-Luc had reported the entire experience, and Beverly could picture him holding Kathryn's hand while one of his medical officers inseminated her. He'd probably offered to go, read the vulnerability in Kathryn's face, and then decided to stay. He was a trustworthy friend that way. Only telling Beverly the story in his letter because he assumed Kathryn already would have, Jean-Luc was an ideal third parent. One of high moral calibre, good genetics and complete faith in the couple to whom he'd entrusted his DNA.

Not that Kathryn was going to admit it. Synthehol demanded little of Beverly's still-healing liver, so they both drank that. Kathryn was going to have a harder time cutting back coffee than Beverly had when she'd carried Wesley, but if It continued to lose its flavour, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad.

"Are you all right?" Beverly's question was more invitation than query.

Kathryn bit back her initial assertion that she was fine. She'd learned the folly of that quicker than Beverly expected. "I'm tired."

"You're allowed to be tired."

"It's not even time for dinner." Kathryn sat halfway up, then gave up and lay down again, staring up at Beverly. "We still have to go get the Maestro. What's he going to think if we're home hours and we haven't collected him?"

"Cats have no sense of time."

"He's not an ordinary cat."

Smiling and nodding, Beverly kissed her forehead. "Now that's true. Alynna will bring him over."

"Did you contact her?"

"No, but--"

"How will she know we're back?"

"She's a Starfleet Admiral, dear. It can't be difficult for her."

Their door chimed, and it was either Alynna Nechayev and their more than ordinary cat, or yet another crate from Andoria. Kathryn frowned at the door, so Beverly slipped herself out from under her and answered the chime.

Alynna stood on their doorstep, cat carrier on the floor next to her, mewling loudly in displeasure, and a elegantly wrapped parcel in her other hand.

"I hope I didn't-"

"We were just talking about you and our little boy. Come in." Beverly waved her in, and picked up the carrier herself. Da Vinci had been well fed at Alynna's and he was just as heavy as he'd been when she'd left. Once the apartment's door was shut, Beverly opened the carrier and let out the terribly unhappy Maestro. He eyed her with great distaste, meowing spitefully, before dashing off to the bedroom to recover his self-esteem.

"I hope he wasn't too much trouble."

Alynna smiled graciously and eyed the pile of crates in the living room. "Oh no. He got along with my two surprisingly well. He may have had a little more affection than he wanted, but he learned to cope with it."

"We both appreciate you taking care of him. I'm sure Kathryn knows I never would have forgiven her for dashing off and leaving him in a shelter."

Kathryn left the sofa and glared at Beverly as she entered the kitchen. "Dashing off to save you."

"Which you did."

"And a great many others," Alynna said graciously. "Also made quite an impression on the Romulans, who are agreeable with opening diplomatic channels for the first time in recorded history."

Beverly kissed Kathryn's cheek and circled to the coffee pot. Kathryn always made a pot, and Alynna was fond of coffee.

"Black?"

"With cream actually."

Kathryn's eyes widened in shock. "Cream?"

"Blame the Betazoid Ambassador. We spent so much time in little cafes in France, drinking coffee with cream between sessions of the Federation senate that I've grown to like it."

Beverly ordered cream from the replicator for Alynna and drank her own black. There was nothing wrong with the coffee, as she suspected, and Kathryn buried a yawn behind her hand. She was tired and had been for the last week or so. Under other circumstances, Beverly would have been sympathetic, as it was, she found it endearing.

Da Vinci emerged slowly from the bedroom, sticking close to the walls as if someone were about to grab him and stick him back in his awful prison at any moment.

Watching him over her coffee, Kathryn smiled softly. "He looks wonderful, thank you, Alynna."

Alynna waved off Kathryn's thanks and smiled playfully. "I'm sorry I missed the wedding."

"It was quick, but charming. You did get our invitation to the reception in Indiana, didn't you?"

"I'd never refuse the Dowager Madame Janeway's hospitality. Gretchen would kill me."

Kathryn did that little double take which meant she'd remembered that Alynna had known her parents before she'd left the Academy. Beverly caught her hand, then kissed it, making her smile.

"When we told her, Kathryn's mother refused to speak to either of us again if we didn't immediately agree to let her throw a wedding reception when we arrived home."

Mentioning Kathryn's mother usually didn't make her go pale; Beverly watched sympathetically as the blood drained from her face. She was more than tired, and her reluctance to admit it had let her down.

"Excuse me," Kathryn managed before she fled. Beverly watched her go with a warm knot of sympathy lodged in her chest, then turned back to a very confused Alynna.

"Is she all right?"

Beverly shrugged and sipped her coffee, smiling as she tried out the word. "Pregnant."

Alynna's eyes widened in surprise, then she laughed: a far cheerier sound than anyone would have guessed. "You were in a hurry, weren't you?"

"Patience is not one of her virtues."

"So you--"

"Oh I know, we talked about it at great length. If we were married, we wanted a child soon. Neither of us is getting any younger, and we've both been putting it off for a long time."

"But she--"

"Hasn't told me yet."

"But you know."

"I am the Head of Starfleet Medical." Beverly teased kindly. "I know her. If the opportunity presented itself, she'd have to try, whether or not she thought it would work."

"Which it did."

"I believe so."

"And she--"

"Never thought it would." Beverly offered Alynna more coffee, beaming. "She really is endearingly intense, isn't she?"

"You're good for her."

"We work together." Beverly watched the cat slip into the bathroom after Kathryn and mentally rubbed his furry little head. "It's an incredible thing."

Alynna drank her coffee thoughtfully, letting the companionable silence float between them. "I'm glad you made it home. This is a far better outcome than I feared when Kathryn left."

Beverly met her eyes, sharing the unmentioned gratitude that she was here, and everything wonderful about the last few weeks had not been lost to the virus and the cold darkness of space.

Setting down her empty cup, Alynna moved her parcel from the counter to the stack of crates. "I'll see you both at the reception and I'll congratulate you again, properly." She squeezed Beverly's hand before she left, "I couldn't be happier for you both."

"Thank you."

After Alynna left, Beverly finished her own coffee and followed Kathryn and the cat into the bathroom. Kathryn sat with her head against the wall, legs folded beneath her and her eyes tightly closed. She didn't seem to have vomited, and Beverly was only too familiar with how she must have felt.

Da Vinci sat next to her, a supportive paw on her leg and a slow, comforting purr rumbling in his chest. He looked questioningly up at Beverly, and settled once she rubbed his soft head.

"You're worrying the Maestro."

Kathryn opened her eyes warily and then shut them again. "I don't know what's wrong."

"Your head spins with your eyes open and it feels like your stomach wants to crawl out of your throat."

Her eyes snapped back open, suddenly suspicious. "Yes."

"And it happened yesterday, and the day before, but it wasn't that bad so you didn't say anything or think much of it."

"Don't tell me I have some kind of terrible Andorian infection."

"Not Andorian."

"Beverly&

* * *

8230;" Kathryn rarely whined, but on the rare occasion she stooped to it, she did it well.

"You're pregnant."

Kathryn shifted position, startling the cat who retreated to a safe distance on top of the sink. "No I'm not."

"You spoke to Jean-Luc on the _Enterprise_ and while you were there, since he was there, you had one of the doctors inseminate you in sickbay. It wouldn't work, of course, so you didn't tell me."

"Deanna told you."

"She's not a full telepath."

"Then you found one on Andoria."

Beverly sat down next to her, putting her arm around her when Kathryn rested her head on her shoulder. "I don't need a telepath to know what you'd do, Katie-dear, I love you. I just know."

"That's cheating."

"Marriage has its quirks, to be sure."

"But I don't-" Kathryn stopped protesting and swallowed, hard. "I can't do that to you."

"You knew hiking would make me dizzy but that I'd want to go anyway, so you said you'd rather go shopping in town."

"That's not the same."

Beverly ran her hand slowly across Kathryn's cheek, smiling. "You knew I needed help and came to rescue me with Romulans and Klingons in tow."

"Jean-Luc's Worf brought the Klingons."

"You knew I'd say yes."

Kathryn let her head sink even lower, completely confused. "What?"

"If you asked me about trying for a baby weeks ago, right after we were married, you knew I'd say yes."

"Of course you would." Lifting her head, Kathryn glared at her suspiciously. "You've known the whole time?"

To be fair, Beverly ran her memory back then nodded. "Maybe not the exact day, but more or less."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"Katie, my dearest, you didn't say anything."

"I didn't think it worked!"

Laughing into the back of Kathryn's head was less than sympathetic, Beverly couldn't help herself. The situation was incredibly charming, Kathryn was absolutely overwhelmed and everything was right. With an entire universe of Delta Quadrants, killer viruses and paperwork allied against them, for the moment, everything was blissfully all right.

"I love you."

Kathryn nuzzled her neck, trying, without much success, not to cry. "I know that."

"Then it's all right."

"It's not all right."

"You'll be fine."

"I'm--"

"Pregnant," Beverly finished for her. "And that's wonderful."

Still pouting, Kathryn reached up and tugged the Maestro's tail. He flicked it angrily and glared at her with contempt as he tucked it out of the way.

"Okay."

Beverly kissed her head, then her cheek. "It will be."

"If you think so."

"I do."

"I love you." Snuggling in closer, Kathryn wound herself into Beverly's arms. "I really love you."

"I knew that too."


End file.
